


The Beast Inside

by NyxEtoile



Series: Syn and Loki Multiverse (Dark Inside AUs) [4]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fae, Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Beauty and the Beast Elements, F/M, Fae & Fairies, Fae Magic, Slow Build, Wild Hunt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-01
Updated: 2019-11-02
Packaged: 2019-12-30 13:57:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 31,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18316625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NyxEtoile/pseuds/NyxEtoile
Summary: You should never make a deal with the Fae.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> No, it's not an April Fools, I'm back with a new Syn/Loki fic. I started this over the summer in a fit of inspiration, got about 5/6 of the way done and had the muse die. After about 8 months of stress and an empty creative well I finally got the spark to finish it off. Hope you enjoy!

You should never make a deal with the Fae.

It was one of the first rules the children of the village learned. Never play near a spooked horse. Never touch the fire or the cooking pot. Never make a deal with the Fae. By the time Syn had been old enough to tie her own apron it had become a part of her. Just natural common sense. 

There were addendum to the rule, as a child grew older and wandered farther from their mother's skirts. Don't follow will o' the wisps into the dark. If you hear the voice of a loved one coming from the woods make sure it's really them before you go to it. Don't touch the fairy stones or step inside the ring they make. Never tell a stranger your true name.

As Syn grew older, she began to understand that all the little rules were part on one large truth. That there were things out in the woods that wanted to hurt you, enslave you. As smart as you were, as clever as you spoke, you were never as clever as them. And if you weren't wary, you would easily become their prey.

Which was why it was so surprising when her father came home one cold winter night, pale and shaking and telling her he'd made a deal at the standing stones.

"Are you completely mad?" she asked once they'd sat at the kitchen table and her father had dug out his best bottle of whiskey.

"Something had to be done," he told her, drinking straight from the bottle.

"About what?"

He looked up at her. "The crops, the animals. We won't survive another winter like this one, you know that."

She sighed. The town had had a string of bad years. A blight had decimated the orchards of her father and his neighbors two springs past. And last summer a wolf pack had gone off with a good number of lambs and maimed twice as many adults before their hunters had managed to thin them out and scare them off. Poor weather on the sea this winter had sunk several merchant ships on the way to the capital. The town was losing money, several of the wealthier families were in debt, including her father. People were starting to say they were cursed, and not just the older, superstitious ones, but several of the more reasonable people as well.

He was right, another winter like this and they'd lose people to starvation and cold.

"I spoke to the other lords," her father told her. "It was the only thing we could think of. We drew straws and I was the one chosen to go."

Syn sat in the chair next to him at the table. "What did you bargain?" she asked quietly.

"I asked for a good harvest and healthy lambs. I asked for prosperity for the town." He took another swallow of whiskey. "He said he would see it done. Five years guaranteed, ample crops and fertile sheep."

"And after that?"

"He said that was not his concern. He would not harm us, nor would he help us. After five years we were on our own again."

She tried to find the loophole in that. But if the man - or whatever he was - had truly said he wouldn't harm them, then he would be bound by that. "And what was the price?"

He met her gaze briefly before looking back at his whiskey bottle. "I offered him gold, land. Sheep. A percentage of the town taxes."

Fear traced up her spine, tightening her skin. "What. Was the price?"

Her father took a deep breath. "He wanted a woman. A young woman to keep his house for him."

She reached over and yanked the whiskey from his hand. "And you agreed?"

"It was the only price he would accept," he said, spreading his hands. "I tried everything else. Everything!"

Syn took her own swig of whiskey, savoring the burn of it down her throat.

"We'll set up a lottery," her father was saying. "I'll speak to the lords. All the unmarried women. Put their names in a pot and draw one. It'll be fair."

"Don't be stupid," she said, voice hissing a little with the after effects of the whiskey. "I'll go."

"Syn. No. You can't just-"

"The bargainer pays the price." It was a rule as ingrained in her as deeply as the others he had broken this night. "You made the bargain. I'll go." He stared at her, looking miserable and she added, "If you held that lottery, do you really think any name but mine would be called?"

He bent his head, answer enough. She sighed and tried to gentle her tone. "When am I expected?"

"Summer's eve," he said softly. "So that we'll see the crops growing and know he held up his end."

They were still weeks away from Beltane, so she had some time. She'd have to tell Maeve the healer she was leaving, and help her find a new apprentice. She could say goodbye to her friends. Maybe sew a few new dresses to bring along.

She expected panic and anger and grief would hit her soon. She'd probably spend a day or two weeping, and a week hating her father. But right now she felt calm. It was well past time for her to leave her father's house and none of the men in the village appealed to her. Gift to the fae wasn't exactly her first choice for an alternative, but it was something. And it meant the town would prosper and no one would starve. It was a greater bride's price than most got.

Later, in bed staring at the ceiling, she reminded herself she wasn't to be a bride. The Gentleman had wanted someone to keep his house for him. At best she was to be a housekeeper or house manager. At worst some sort of slave.

For the record, that was when the tears started.

Her father told the lords of the deal the next day and reactions were mixed. Some feared there was some loophole or phrasing her father hadn't thought of that would come to haunt them. It was possible, but Syn thought it unlikely, based on what he'd told her. Others protested the price, even when assured she had volunteered to go. No one suggested another option or offered up their own daughter instead. Certainly no one wanted to go back on the bargain. 

Word spread quickly and the looks of pity from the rest of the town started to grate on her. Maeve was upset, but resigned, and agreed to find another apprentice, lamenting only that she had been "almost done" with Syn.

Beltane came and none of the young men who usually flirted with her did so. It was a pity, she would have liked one more tumble in the grass before being sent off wherever it was she was going. But she was clearly seen as tainted goods now and the odds of finding a bed mate were small.

The day after the bonfire festival, spring began in force. The orchard trees were bursting with blooms and the crops seemed to have doubled overnight. Over the next few weeks the shepherds reported more and more ewes showing up pregnant and heavy enough to be carrying twins. The farmers proclaimed expecting harvests the like of which they'd never seen before.

No one said it aloud, of course, but the general feeling seemed to be that Syn was a small price to pay for such a spring.

By the time summer's eve had come, the farmers had already brought early harvests to the city, the bushels overflowing their carts. There were a lot of smiling faces around town as preparations were made for the summer festival.

Syn's father had locked himself in his study with his whiskey. She imagined he'd be there the rest of the night. They had said their goodbyes many times over the last few weeks. She had no more to give him. No sympathy for his grief, but no real anger towards him, either. He'd done what he thought best, had saved the town. She had no doubt he'd go in her place if he could.

She packed a small bag. Two new dresses, three old ones. Her good apron. Some books, her hairbrush and pins. A necklace and bracelet set that had been her mother's. A good pair of boots one of the famers had brought back from the city and refused payment for.

The festival was going strong long before the sun went down. Her father had been unclear about what time the Fae was expecting her, but twilight seemed as good a time as any to head out for the woods. The world always seemed soft and eerie then, with the light dimming and slanted.

When she paused outside her father's study she thought she heard him weeping and decided it was for the best to leave him be. The town would look after him. She paused again on the front stoop, taking in the view and the sounds of the festival taking place in the town square. It would the the last time she'd see her house and her garden. The last summer festival. Maybe her last twilight. She tried to memorize it all. The colors, the sounds. Even the smells of woodsmoke and lavender and the roses lining the garden walk.

Eventually, she forced herself to move, walking out of her yard to the road and turning right, away from the square, towards the woods.

The air seemed to grow cooler as she walked away from home but that was probably her own imagination, or at worst an effect of the setting sun and lengthening shadows. She met no one on the road. No group of townsfolk to see her off, no cluster of girls to thank her for taking their place. She found herself wondering if it was guilt or disinterest that kept them all away.

Perhaps someday there would be a legend of the beautiful girl sacrificed so the town could thrive. Girls in legends were always beautiful. And brave and clever and resourceful. Syn was most of those things. She wouldn't mind the upgrade, if it meant she was a legend.

The trees of the forest loomed before her and she found her steps slowing, uncertain. Wandering into the woods at this time of day felt wrong on every level, those old warnings and rules trying to call her back. But a bargain had already been struck and she was the price. It wasn't too late for the crops to whither and the ewes to die. So Syn straightened her shoulders and pretended she was one of the beautiful, brave heroines her mother used to tell her about and walked into the woods.

It took less time to find the fairy stones than she'd expected. She forced herself not pause, slipping between two of the plinths and walking to the center of the ring. Nothing happened immediately and she counted ten heartbeats before putting her bag down and sitting on the grass. When nothing continued to happen, she rummaged in her bag, pulled out a book and began to read.

Less than an hour later she had lost all her light and she gave up, tucking the book away again. She wondered how long she was expected to wait and if she was going to end up sleeping out here. Summer it might be, but the nights still had a chill to them and she much preferred having a roof overhead.

There was a soft sound off to her right, at the edge of the stones, and she peered into the darkness until a large black wolf detached from the shadows. Syn slowly got to her feet, watching the creature as it padded towards her. It got close enough to stretched its head out and sniff her hand. It sneezed and shook its head, then turned and walked back to the edge of the stones before turning back to look at her expectantly.

Oddly, it never occurred to her that it might be a normal wolf and certainly the glance back confirmed it. She bent and plucked up her bag, then followed the animals back into the trees. The deeper they got into the woods, the harder it was to make out the wolf among the real shadows and she hurried to keep up with it.

After a few minutes of walking, she noticed they were on a path of some sort, not beaten earth, but cobbled stone. Syn had never been this far into the woods, she was fairly certain no one had in many years. Certainly no one had been maintaining and clearing cobbles.

The path widened into a proper road and the trees thinned out so that moonlight lit her way. The wolf had taken a spot next to her, an oddly comforting warmth at her hip. They came around a turn and suddenly before her was a castle.

Once when Syn was a little girl, her aunt and mother had taken her to the city for a week. On the way home they'd gone off the road a bit to have a picnic and ended up in the ruins of an ancient castle. Syn had spent the afternoon running through the rubble, crawling up the crumbling stairs and pretending to be a princess. The castle that stood before her now made the one from her little girl imagination look like a small shack.

She had stopped in her tracks and the wolf carefully pressed on the back of her legs like of of the shepherd dogs trying to get a stubborn lamb to fall in line.

"He's in there, huh?" she asked aloud. She had resisted talking to the dog before now, a little bit afraid it would answer.

To her relief, it didn't speak, but leaned on her again.

She let him push her a few steps. "Are you coming with me?"

It fell in line next to her and gently closed its teeth around her hand, giving it a tug. Hoping that meant yes, she hitched her bag higher and walked up to the heavy, carved wooden door.

The door swung open when she reached it and she forced herself to keep going, right into the brightly lit entryway. Once she was clear of it, the door swung shut again with a decisive thunk.

Syn turned in a circle, taking in the foyer. The floor was marble, black and heavily veined, polished to a mirror shine. The walls were papered with a heavy green damask, threaded with gold geometric patterns. A staircase was on her right, curving up to a second floor shrouded in shadow. To the left and just in front of her were more doors, four in total. They were all tall, the lintels way above her head, and looked like they might be too heavy for her to move. Everything was lit by sconces lining the walls and a huge chandelier dangling above her head.

The wolf was still at her side and she was about to ask where she was supposed to go now when a voice came from the top of the stairs.

"He actually sent someone."

The tone was dry, sardonic bordering on bored. It had an unfamiliar accent, plummy and rich, sending a little shiver down her spine.  
Syn looked up the long stair to see a pair of shiny black shoes descending. Above the shoes were perfectly pressed black slacks. The black motif continued to his jacket and shirt. A pale, long fingered hand ran lightly down the gleaming bannister.

She forced her gaze to his face. He was handsome, with an aristocratic nose and high, sharp cheek bones. His mouth was wide and generous, curled into a faint, mocking smile. His hair was too long for aristocratic fashion, slightly curling at the ends. His eyes were a bright, shocking blue.

She had expected him to be ethereally beautiful, the way the fae were in the stories. So attractive that those who looked at them were immediately bewitched, eager and enthusiastic slaves. She hadn't exactly _wanted_ to be enchanted, but it might have made whatever was to happen next easier. But while he was perhaps the most attractive man she had ever met, he was not unearthly so.

"It's not a good idea to renege on a deal with the Fae," she replied, proud of how calm and steady her voice was.

His mouth twisted into something that wasn't quite a smile but something meaner and darker. "No. I suppose it isn't."

He had reached the bottom of the stairs and slowly walked towards her, his shiny shoes tapping against the shiny marble. He walked a circle around her, motions smooth and deadly, like a hunting cat. Syn forced herself to stand still, not turn to keep an eye on him. She followed his progress by the tap of his shoes. "So," he said when he'd reached her front again. "How did you end up in this unfortunate circumstance? Bad luck? Punishment for some heinous crime?"

"I'm the daughter of the man who came to you," she told him, meeting his gaze. "The bargainer pays the price."

His head tipped back and he seemed to consider her more thoughtfully. She wondered if she had surprised him somehow.

Without warning, he turned on his heel and started back up the stairs. About a third of the way up he waved a hand. "Come on. I'll show you your room."

The wolf didn't even have to nudge her. She hurried up the first dozen steps, until she was three or four behind him, and followed him to the second floor. Sconces lit as they passed, without him so much as waving a hand at them.

The second floor was as grand as the first, a long, wide hall way lined with doors on one side and paintings on another. The walls were the rich gleaming wood of the doors, making the portals blend in if not for the dark metal knobs. The floor was carpeted in dense green pile, so thick her boots sank in and left impressions that lasted a few seconds after she lifted her foot.

He lead her to the left and she tried to count the doors or memorize the paintings they passed so she had a hope to find her way back, but it seemed as if she'd missed a few doors, or that the paintings repeated themselves. The door he opened for her was indistinguishable from all the others. He stepped back and gestured for her to enter.

The room was huge, as large as the main room in her father's house. One wall was dedicated to a massive bed with an intricately carved head and foot board. Opposite the bed was a fireplace flanked by two doors. Directly before her was a window with a window seat she could likely lie flat on and sleep.

"This is to be my room," she asked in disbelief.

"You were hoping for a a dank cell?"

The sarcasm stung a bit because given the dearth of information she had about this deal, what else was she to expect?

So there might have been a touch of sarcasm in her own voice when she retorted, "You are far too generous, my lord."

He smirked. _Smirked_. Then he inclined his head regally and left her, closing the door behind him.


	2. Chapter 2

She was not what he had expected.

Asking for a girl had been a whim. A foolish one, in retrospect. He'd regretted it as soon as he'd gotten home. He'd even debated not following through with his half of the bargain. No crops, no need to send some poor, whinging girl to him. But he so rarely got to perform magic anymore and the deal had been a fair one. Freely asked and well bargained. Encouraging a few plants to grow full and lush had been simple enough, hardly causing a twinge.

He'd sent Fenris out to the stones half expecting no one to show. That the wolf had brought someone at all had been a surprise. But she was nothing like he'd pictured. He'd thought he'd have to put up with tears and begging. Some whiny, frightened chit he could toss in a room and forget until she got hungry or brave enough to emerge. Perhaps he'd toy with her for a while before conveniently leaving her a path of escape. The bargain would be filled, he might get a bit of entertainment out of it and in the end his solitude would be mostly undisturbed.

He had not expected a woman who stood straight and looked him in the eye. Who took the wolf guide and an impossible castle in stride. Who looked around with a kind of cool detachment and sassed him back when he made her prickle. No sobbing, no begging.

_The bargainer pays the price._ They'd sent him a little queen who knew the rules of his people. How had a man foolish enough to make a bargain with a prince of the Fae raised a girl wise enough to know their laws?

Ah, well, perhaps it took a believer to know the rules or to make a deal.

Loki sat before his fireplace, staring into the dancing flams and stroking Fenris's head. "I'm not going to be able to lock her up and forget about her, am I?" The wolf chuffed and laid down, crossing his forelegs and resting his big head on them. "No, I suppose not."

He supposed that meant he'd have to find something to do with her, then.

In the morning, he woke to the smell of bacon and coffee and his wolf missing. Fenris wasn't the loyalest of pets, but he enjoyed his comforts and generally spent the night at the foot of the bed or sprawled in front of the banked fire. His absence was odd enough to get Loki out of bed and dressed to explore what havoc the girl was causing in his house.

He found her and the wolf in the kitchen. She appeared to be frying bacon while Fenris sat obediently a few feet away, watching her intently.

"I think you're a very spoiled wolf," she was saying, her back to Loki. "If you expect more bacon just for sitting still. A chicken can sit still and they never get bacon."

In response, Fenris woofed and lurched up to his hind legs. Had he been able to stretch up he'd have been taller than the girl.

She arched a brow. "All right, all right. That deserves bacon." She tossed him a piece and he dropped back to all fours, chomping happily.

"Will there be any left for me once you're done feeding the pets?"

Her shoulders hunching was the only sign he'd startled or upset her. "Yes, my lord." She reached over and twitched a cloth back, revealing a plate full of bacon.

It was silly to be annoyed at her besting him over bacon. Still, he'd only just woken up and felt snappish. "Don't call me that," he grumbled, stalking over the the coffee warming on the other side of the stove.

"What can I call you?" she asked carefully.

The phrasing was very deliberate. She _was_ well versed in their rules, wasn't she? This was where he was supposed to give her some harmless moniker, so she'd not know his true name and have power over him. He had his handful. The Trickster, the Liesmith, Sky Traveler, Sly One. She was mortal and probably afraid of him, even if she would't show it, she'd call him whatever he told her to, without question.

But what did it matter? If some little mortal girl knew his name? She was the only company he was likely to have for a long time. Did he really want to hear "yes Liesmith, of course Sky Traveler" for the next fifty years?

Damn the rules and damn her and damn him for making this damnable deal.

"Loki," he said, pouring his drink. "Just Loki."

He busied himself making his coffee sweet enough, then risked glancing over at her. "What am I to call you?"

She blinked. "I-" He could see her floundering, perhaps hunting for some harmless nickname to give him. Then she shook her head and looked back at her bacon. "Syn. I'm called Syn."

That was her name. Her true one. He had enough magic in him to know that, to taste it on the air. "And what is for breakfast, besides bacon and coffee, Syn?"

Her shoulders hunched again. "If you can tell me where your chickens are I can make hot cakes. Or if you prefer the eggs themselves just tell me how you want them prepared."

"No chickens," he told her. "Eggs will be in the larder where you found the bacon."

She looked back at him, brow furrowed. "No chickens? How- where does the food some from?"  
"The house provides." He spit the words and sipped his coffee to center himself. "Whatever you wish the house will provide."

She stared at him another moment, then inclined her head. "All right. Where would you like the meal served?"

He gestured to the nearest door. "The dining room." He walked towards it. "Feel free to join me."

To his surprise, Fenris joined him in the dining room, laying at his feet at one end of the almost sarcastically long table.

Syn came in a few minutes later and set his place, bringing the coffee pot and sugar bowl so he could refill. Next came a tray of bacon and a platter of hotcakes. Then a bowl of fruit. She came back one last time, carrying a second place setting and hesitated, suddenly uncertain, eyeing the large table.

Loki sighed and resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "Sit," he ordered, pointing to the seat at his left, closest to her.

With a little start, she moved to obey, setting he plate and flatware down before tucking herself onto the chair. She glanced down at the wolf, sprawled between them. "Does he have a name?"

"Fenris," Loki answered, serving himself from the trays. "Continue to feed him bacon and you will have a friend for eternity."

She watched him a moment, then looked back at Fenris. "Is he. . . He's not a normal wolf, is he?"

"No," he said, not feeing the need to elaborate. He finished serving himself and pushed the trays towards her in an effort to prevent more dithering.

Silently, she filled her plate and they ate. She got up once to fetch a pitcher of cream to pour in her coffee. The silence was heavy but not unbearably awkward. He could tell she wasn't comfortable but also sensed that anything he tried to do about it would only make it worse.

He was almost finished with his meal when she asked quietly, "Who prepared your meals before?"

He froze with his fork halfway to his mouth. "The house provides."

She blinked. "You haven't had any other servants?"

There had been a manservant once, hadn't there? Very early, when he'd still had hope this exile would be temporary. That had been centuries ago. "Not for a very long time." He put his fork down and stood. "Feel free to leave the dishes, they'll be clean by lunch." With that he sketched her an unnecessary bow and strode to the door.

"But what do you want me to do?"

She had followed him. He was starting to long for the weepy girl he'd expected. "What do you mean?" he asked, not turning back.

"You told my father you wanted a girl to keep your house. If your house does everything for you. . . what do you want me to do?"

There was a thread of something like fear in her tone amongst the confusion. It was interesting enough for him to turn mack to her. She was standing in the doorway, hands fisted in her skirts. Her spine had that usual defiant stiffness, but when he looked back to her, she didn't quite meet his eyes, cheek pink.

Realization struck him. "Ah. Are you concerned your some sort of virgin sacrifice?"

The mockery, oddly, got her to look at him, jaw twitching, then lifting as a crooked smile twisted her mouth. "You did not specify virgin. Had you, regrettably, I would not be here."

It surprised a bark of laughter from him and for a moment he wondered when he had laughed honestly. He shook his head and took a step back. "Do what you want," he told her. "Cook, don't cook. Hide in your room if it please you. The bargain was only that you come, not that I put you to use."

He got a glimpse of shock and confusion on her face before he turned and stormed away.

*

She washed the gods be-damned dishes.

She considered just leaving them on the table as he'd suggested. Perhaps taking a seat to watch them and see what happened. Would they suddenly disappear, reappearing in the cupboards clean and sparkling as if they were new. Or was the house's magic the sort you really weren't supposed to watch. Perhaps they'd simply sit on the table, food gone dried out and gummy until she finally looked away or left to use the privy and when she got back they'd be gone, table polished and gleaming as the rest of the house.

But in the end, she decided that was petty and she needed something to do with herself. So she gathered up the dishes and serving trays and set about washing them. There was a pump in the kitchen that supplied both hot and cold water and some soap that smelled of citrus fruit.

Elbows deep in suds and water was a good time to think, though Syn's thoughts weren't particularly productive at the moment.

In the weeks since her father had told her of his deal and she'd accepted her fate as the bargain price, she'd tried to imagine what her life would be like. She had quite the imagination and large inventory of myths and legends to pull from, so it had been quite a time consuming task.

So far, it had been nothing like she'd pictured. No barren cell or dank oubliette, but a beautiful state room worthy of an honored guest. No fey, unearthly master who talked in riddles and kept her off balance with his charms, but an aloof, moody man who seemed to regret having demanded her presence. No endless list of tasks both mundane and esoteric, but a magic house that saw to their every whim and an exasperated order to do whatever she wanted.

At home, for most of her life they had had servants, at least until the droughts and poor luck had meant they could no longer afford it and she had taken over most of the tasks. But even before that she'd had things to do. Lessons with Maeve, errands for her father. Afterwards she'd done most of the cooking and cleaning and had joined the other women in town to share the laundry chores. Here, clearly, none of that was necessary.  
.  
So she finished washing the dishes and wiped down the counters and stove she had dirtied, then put her hands on her hips. The task had taken less than hour and now she had the whole day in front of her, in a strange, magical house, with nothing to do.

_The house provides_ , he had said. Did that apply to everything?

"I don't suppose you'd provide me with something to do?" she asked the air. Much like with the wolf, it was a relief when it didn't answer, though she was also a bit frustrated.

She strode to the door she'd originally come in, that had led to the back hall and servants stairs. Instead of a narrow, dim hallway she found herself in the grandest library she had ever seen.

She glanced behind her to confirm that yes, there was the kitchen, right where it had been. And turning back assured her that yes, that was a library and not a servant's hall.

Well, she had asked for something to do, and it had been several seasons since she'd had the luxury of a day to do nothing but read. So she closed the door firmly behind her, certain it would lead somewhere new when she opened it next, and set about exploring.

It quickly became clear that the room had no order or reason to it. Thousands of books lined shelves spanning every wall and going up nearly three stories. She found philosophy tucked in with poetry and art. Fiction of all sorts jumbled together, interspersed with nature books and scientific treatises. Some of the books were in other languages, a few she recognized, most she did not.

She pulled one off the shelf that was bound in cracked, flaking leather. The pages felt like something other than paper and the writing was so faded as to be unreadable. It looked like runes, the kind carved into fairy stones. As she ran her fingers over the marks she felt an odd frisson of power trace her spine and quickly closed it, slipping it back in its place on the shelf. There was no up side to meddling in such things.

Organizing even the first floor would be an enormous undertaking, but then, she was here for the rest of her life. In any case, it would wait for another day. For now, she strolled around idly, pulling out volumes here and there that caught her fancy. A book of poems here, a collection of fairy tales here. There was a small nook that seemed dominated by the kind of romantic fiction her father would have sniffed at her reading, but indulged the next time he was in the city. She tossed several of those on the stack and one dry volume about the history of beekeeping, just on balance.

The library had a number of comfortable chairs and quiet nooks to tuck herself into to read her books. At luncheon the house obligingly opened the door back to the kitchen where she cobbled together fruit, cheese, and crusty bread before returning to her reading.

Her host, master, whomever he was, did not appear for dinner and so she fed herself in the kitchen and took her books up to her room, curling on the window seat to read until she was tired enough to sleep.

And so it went on for a few days. She ate her meals alone and spent her hours reading in whatever pleasant spot she chose. It occurred to her more than once that perhaps Loki was no longer even in the house. Perhaps, content with the trick he had pulled on the mortals, he had returned to wherever it was the Fae came from, chuckling with his kinfolk over the poor country girl trapped in his vacation home.

A few times she thought of running away, back home, telling her father and the rest of them that she wasn't wanted. But something stopped her, something that had nothing to do with the magic house or fae bargain. It had something to do with the fickle man in black who had asked for a woman to keep his house that required no keeping. She didn't think he'd left her. She didn't think he was laughing. And she was stubborn and contrary enough to want to find out more.

She had been there a week when she grew tired of the solitude. Once she had finished breakfast and washed up, she looked up at the ceiling, as she usually did when she addressed the house. "I don't suppose you could just. . . take me to him."

One of these days, she was going to stop waiting for an answer. She just peeled her apron off, picked a door and opened it.

It lead to a men's study, done in dark wood and forest green. A large fire blazed in the hearth, despite it being literally mid summer. Loki sat in a large, high backed leather chair, a book on one knee and Fenris's head on the other.

The door swung closed behind her before she could rethink her decision and she took a hesitant step forward. He didn't seem to have noticed her yet and she said the first thing that came to her mind. "What is with all the green?"

He arched a brow and didn't look up from his book. "Do you not have a favorite color?"

"Not one I like enough to decorate my entire house in it." She strolled towards the fire and Fenris hopped up to his feet, tail wagging enthusiastically. "Hello bacon thief," she said affectionately, rubbing his head.

Loki pretended to focus on his book, but she could tell he watched her out of the corner of his eye. She pet Fenris a moment, then took a seat in the leather chair on the other side of the hearth from Loki. "Does this place have a garden?" she asked, for lack of anything else to say.

Now he did look at her. "A garden?"

"Yes. An outdoor area in which plants grow in a more or less orderly manner. When I arrived all I could see was woods and every window I look out of has a different view." Including windows in the same room. It had been disconcerting the first time she'd noticed a seat on the western wall of the library gave her a view of the sea while the windows in the east were snow peaked mountains.

"Hmm." He tilted his head. "I suppose it might. Somewhere. I've never looked."

And here she'd thought fae were supposed to be curious creatures. "Do you care to look now?"

"Why?" He drew the word out suspiciously, as if she planned to trap or ambush him in his own garden.

"Because I'm bored and it's no fun exploring alone." She didn't actually expect that to work, but it was the truth and she had never been good at making up excuses.

To her utter surprise, he closed his book with a snap and stood, snapping for Fenris. Syn bounced to her feet and walked to the door with him.

"It's possible there is no garden," he warned, a hand on the knob.

"Well, then I'm curious at to what the house will provide for us."

He gave her an odd look, but reached out and opened the door.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know what happened to last week. I just had it, it was right here. . .

Apparently, Loki had a garden.

He'd spoken the truth when she asked, it had never occurred to him to look. What need did he have for a garden? The house provided him food and he had never been one for flower picking. Besides, he'd likely kill any he tried to touch.

Syn, on the other hand, seemed quite delighted with the maze of paths and greenery they had found on the other side of the door.

"Look at this, I've never even see some of these plants." She crouched down to peer at a low plant with long, thick, spiky leaves. She ran a finger along one of the fronds and snatched it back when she hit a spike.

"And this!" She stood to hurry a few feet along the path. "This is the largest belladonna I've ever seen. It's used as a sedative in small doses. And that's foxglove. It's poisonous but if you distill it properly it can help with fits and nervous conditions." She planted her fists on her hips and looked around. "I wonder if all of these are medicinal. There's dozens of books on plants in the library, I should look these up."

"Are you a healer?"

"I was training to be one," she replied, running her fingers along the petals of a purple flower. "I was almost done when I came here."

Loki ignored the twinge of conscience at having robbed the town of their new healer and the obvious note of loss in her voice. "I'm sure the house would provide you with a workshop. To do your distilling and whatnot." He waved a hand dismissively at the surrounding plants.

The look she gave him was almost amused. "Does my lord have a pressing need for sedatives and cures for nervous conditions?"

"They could be sent to town," he offered. "If they would trust deliveries from the Fae Gentleman." He sketched a bow, hoping to hide any doubt or confusion that might be in his face. He had no idea why he was suggesting such things. She threw him entirely off balance. Ten minutes ago he was contentedly tucked in his dark study, reading, now he stood in the sunshine, in a garden he hadn't known he had.

She was looking at him as if she didn't entirely trust the offer. As if she was looking for the loop hole, or upside for him. Loki wondered if this would all be easier if she was a bit stupider.

"I'll think on it," was all she said, following the path further into the garden. They came to a fork and she glanced up at him. "Which way?"

He pointed right, so she promptly turned left. He hid an unwanted smile. Now was probably the time to return to the house. Go back to his book and leave her to her exploring. But he found himself following her down the path, almost despite himself. The was no harm in a brief distraction. It might even be useful, knowing a few of the garden's secrets.

The medicinal plants thinned out and were replaced by flowers of every color. Roses lined one side of the path, bushes so thick and close they formed a kind of wall. Loki ignored the vague claustrophobic feeling that gave him. He watched her instead, the way she paused to inspect a listing iris and trailed her fingertips over the blooming lavender.

It was a beautiful garden, even he could see that. His mother would have been delighted with it. Probably spent hours pruning and tending, talking with any plants that seemed to be struggling. His earliest memories of her were in her garden.

He shook off the thoughts of his mother before they could sour his mood. There was no point in dwelling on the past. Especially for a man with as much of a past as he had.

Ahead of him, the girl had stopped walking and was looking down. As he neared, he saw what had captured her attention. The plant life had thinned out to a small patch of blossoming ground cover, ending in a patch of rich, dark earth marred only by a thick line of chalk the width of his palm.

"What is it?" she asked when he got close enough.

"The boundary of my land." This close, he could feel the burn of the magic binding him here.

She lifted a hand, held it palm out, as if pressed against a wall. "There's a barrier. As if the air is thicker." She glanced back at him. "I can't cross it, can I?'

It was something he had not considered, that his bargain would keep her here as surely as he was trapped. "No, I suppose not. Distasteful as it is to say, you belong to me until such a time as I free you."

Whatever her thoughts on that, her expression did not betray them. She trailed her fingers across the magic barrier and the air seemed to ripple and distort as she did so.

Then, with a decisive little nod, she turned away to face him, walking back the way she had come. "Why did you ask for a person?"

He reeled back, stepping out of her way as she retraced their steps back to the fork in the path. "I beg your pardon?"

"When you made the deal with my father, he offered you gold or land but you said you wanted a woman. Now that I'm here you ignore me and don't seem to know what to do with me. So I'm just wondered why you asked in the first place."

"I had to ask for something," he replied, hoping he didn't sound as defensive to her ears as he did to his own. "I have no need of money or property."

"You could have asked for a trifle."

Loki scoffed, falling into place beside her, hands behind his back as they walked. "He wouldn't have trusted it. He thought what he was asking for was an enormous undertaking. Had I asked for something small he'd have thought I was tricking him somehow."

She seemed to think about that a moment, then inclined her head. "Sill, you could have thought of something. There are a lot of ways to make a price seem large. You could have asked for a vial of his blood, or water from some distant spring. Or one thousand grains of sand, no more or less." She chuckled. "I'd have loved to see the lords hunched around a table, carefully counting and recounting."

The thought seemed to genuinely amuse her. Loki didn't know the lords of her town, save the one who had come to make the deal, but he had known a few of his own. And the idea of them trying to count grains of sand made him smirk as well.

They reached the fork in the road and he sketched her a little bow. "I believe I shall take my leave of you."

Her expression was hard to read, but he suspected she wasn't happy with that announcement. "Will I see you at dinner?" she asked, polite as anything.

It had not occurred to him she might actually prefer his company. He'd grown so used to eating alone he had forgotten how lonely it could be. "If you wish."

She nodded brusquely. "I do."

"Then until dinnertime." He inclined his head and walked up the path back towards the house. He did not glance back, but a vague itch between his shoulder blades made him think she was watching him go.

When he actually showed up for dinner, she didn't bother to hide her surprise. If he was being honest, he was a little surprised himself. He had intended to go to the library for another book but had ended up in the dining room instead. He supposed the house felt he needed a meal more than another hour of reading.

Dinner was roast fowl with whipped potatoes and gravy, all clearly made by Syn. The house never seasoned anything quite right.

"Find anything interesting in the garden after I left?" he asked when the silence became too heavy.

"Some. The other side had more flowers, but there were a few fruit trees and berry bushes."  
"Did you sample any?"

"I've heard far too many stories about the dangers of eating fae food to risk that."

With and arched brow he gestured to the meal before them without comment. It amused him that she flushed in embarrassment.

"That's different," she protested. "It's not growing out of the ground. And besides, I cooked the meal, it's at least half mundane."

That was actually a reasonably fair point. "You're already stuck here, what more do you think a few berries is going to do to you?"

She shrugged. "Give me goat's legs? Turn me into a frog? Or seven notes of music, or whatever is in fashion nowadays."

"Seven notes of music." He sipped his wine. "That's a good one, I'll have to remember that."

She glared at him, and looked a bit like she wanted to stick her tongue out. Apparently, decorum won out as she sipped her own wine and went back to her meal.

"I wouldn't worry about the fruit," he offered after a few minutes of silence. "This place exists somewhere a bit between your world and mine. The food will do you no harm."

That got her to look back at him. "What do you mean, between the worlds?"

He lifted a shoulder, realizing he was tiptoeing into dangerous territory. "Just as I said."

She tilted her head and studied him with an intensity that made him uncomfortable. He stood in an effort to avoid it.

"What do you do with your evenings?" she asked him.

Freezing in the act of pushing his chair away, he summoned a rakish smile. "Oh, the usual. Making deals, seducing innocent maids, snatching plump children from their idle parents."

Her head tilted the other way and her mouth thinned into something that was disapproving, but in a way that made him think she was amused. "Such a busy life my lord leads."

He fought his own smile. "I read, mostly."

"I have been reading in the library," she remarked, picking up her wine glass again. "You could join me."

"Join you?" he asked, brows raising.

"Yes. Instead of reading all alone in your study and me reading all alone in the library, we could both read in the same room."

"Why on earth would we do that?"

Her gaze met his. Her eyes were green, he had noticed that the first night she came. But what he had only just noticed was they changed their hue depending on the lighting. In the garden they had been the pale green of spring leaves. Right now there were dark hunter green, the color he favored in his decor. Part of him wondered if that was a sign of something, but he had long stopped looking for signs and omens.

"To be less lonely," she replied. The words were simple, perhaps even kind. But she tossed them out at him like a gauntlet thrown on the battlefield.

He didn't know what to say to that. He suddenly had the sense that those green eyes saw right through him. So he simply turned on a heel and left the room.

Two nights later, he joined her in the library to read.

*

Syn had never really thought she'd live a life of leisure. True, she was the only daughter of a lord and that had allowed for some relaxation and free time. But her village had never been rich and there was always work to be done. The other lords had either had daughters or sons too young for her to contemplate marrying. She could have, possibly, gone off to the city for a season to try to snag the younger son of some minor lord or another. But in the city she'd be seen as a country bumpkin, no matter how nice her dress or manners.

No, on the rare moments she had pondered marriage, sh had assumed it would be to a merchant of some sort. A good, solid life to keeping his books balanced and his house tended. Caring for any children that came along. Perhaps earning some extra coin with her skills as a healer. It would have been a simple life. A bit dull now and then. There would have been hard times and fat times. She was clever and strong and knew how to make do. It would have been fine.

Never, in her most fanciful girlish imaginings, had she thought she'd live a life wherein she was free to garden and putter in her workshop, decide at the last minute if she wanted to cook or not and eat a scrumptious dinner regardless, and spend her evenings reading in a three story library.

Surely not even a queen had such a life.

Loki remained aloof but polite, at least for him. He did join her for dinner and often to read in the library afterwards. If there was conversation she had to be the one to steer it and for the most part it was about the plants she'd identified in the garden and the medicines she was working on. She stilled wasn't entirely sure how she was going to get any of them to town, or if they would trust them if she did, but that was a problem for the future. She was still only drying herbs and researching the unfamiliar plants.

Research and plants and botany was for the daylight hours. At night she liked to find a good fiction to curl up with and unwind before bed.

Of course, _good_ could sometimes be hard to find, even in the largest of libraries.

She reached the end of her most recent selection and sent it hurtling towards the far wall, where it impacted with a satisfying _thump_ before falling gracelessly to the carpeted floor.

"Did the fictional people anger you again?" Loki asked mildly, turning a page in the enormous volume he had been working on.

"They did," she said. "I should have known when I saw the author. Men cannot write a romance."

Now he looked up, amused. "You read those dreadful romances?"

"I do." The house would put the discarded book away for her, so she left it where it was, getting up to search the shelves for a new entertainment. "What's wrong with that?"

"They're a bit. . . frivolous." She had the distinct impression he had chosen his words carefully, so as not to offend her. Which any other time she would have found worth examining, or at the very least, amusing. But currently he was critiquing her taste in literature, so she was too annoyed to be amused.

"What's wrong with frivolous? I spent all day researching what in the world that ugly root growing next to the marigolds is and what medicinal value it holds. I am in the mood for frivolous." She trailed her fingers along the spines. "Romances focus on a woman overcoming obstacles and problems in her life. She finds strength in herself and in the love of a man who accepts her for who she is. And they have happy endings. Or at least they're supposed to," she added with a glare towards the thrown book.

"I see." Some of the mockery had left his tone and she risked a glance back at him. He had closed his book over a finger and was watching her hunt. "He didn't give you the ending you wanted."

"I didn't read four hundred pages of pining and tension for the man to get killed off page while at war and the heroine to learn an important lesson about independence." She took a book with a cover emblazoned with flowers off the shelf and flipped it open to read the first page. "Life is full of enough pain and disappointment. I don't need to be saddened by my fiction, as well."

"Some people like to face the fickleness of fate head on," he said. "Dealing with fictional disappointments can help prepare for the real ones."

Syn closed the book and tucked it under her arm. The author's name was feminine and the first page featured a free spirited woman reading as she walked through muddy, windswept moors. All good signs, enough for her to give it a chance. "Nothing frivolous for you, then?"

He shook his head and opened his book, bending his head to read again. "I had my fill of frivolous centuries ago."

She filed that comment away with the other little bits of information she had gleaned about him over the weeks and strolled back to their seating area. "What do you read, then? Dry historical tomes about who conquered who and what sons he had and who they conquered?"

He gave a derisive snort but otherwise didn't answer. Syne decided to take a detour behind his chair and get a glance over his shoulder.

_The men beside him had become his brothers. Their blood mixed and shared in thee frenzy of the battlefield. And it occurred to him then that this battle brotherhood had become more potent than the cause for which they were fighting._

"Coming of age in wartime," she said, delighted. "Men's romance!"

"It's not men's romance," he snapped, twisting to look at her and hide the book at the same time.

She cackled and traipsed back to her seat. "I absolutely is. Just because it's painted in the trappings for heroism and manliness doesn't make it any less frivolous than my entertainments."

He gave an annoyed huff. "It's still not a romance. There's no love story."

"Depends on the book. Sometimes he falls in love with himself. Sometimes he finds a deep bosom love for this one particular sergeant with a handsome jaw who always-"

"Enough." His voice was sharp, but a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

Syn smirked and tucked herself into her chair, starting her new book.


	4. Chapter 4

And so they fell into a steady sort of rhythm. She worked in her garden or workshop during the day, usually only stopping for a fast lunch. When the sun began to dip she would pack up her things and wash up for dinner, either to make it, or see what the house had concocted. It occurred to her once that she had never seen the garden at night and the unsettled her in some way she couldn't quite name. Would it even be there? Was there a night in the garden, or did one day bleed into another? Did the sun old dip to the horizon because she expected it to?

There were so many mysteries in this house they became more obvious the longer she stayed there. Who had built it? How did it rearrange itself so that whatever door you opened led to the room you wanted to go to? The castle she remembered seeing in the woods the night she'd arrived hadn't seemed to have space for all the rooms she'd seen inside. Certainly not a three story library and the long hallway at the top of the stairs and whatever unseen rooms Loki spent his days in.

If she was being honest, most of the mysteries revolved around Loki. Though she felt far more comfortable in his presence than she had the first time she had met him, she still didn't really _know_ the man. Fae. Whatever.

Was he her host or prison guard? Was he the one who controlled the house's maneuvering? She'd thought so at first, but there had been times when he'd entered a room and seemed perplexed or dismayed at finding himself where he was. And certainly he hadn't wanted her to find him in the study that day she'd made him come out in the garden. He hadn't even known he _had_ a garden. Who didn't know if they had a garden or not?

He rarely went outside, as far as she could tell, unless he went flitting off in the woods where she couldn't see him. But he didn't join her in the garden, didn't even seem to take a stroll along the parapets.

Syn didn't even know if they had parapets.

When her head got too bogged down in the questions and mysteries, she baked. She had not been the best baker in town - her cakes tended to be a little dense and her attempts at pie were best not spoken of - but her bread was well above average. And the house supplied her with excellent, enthusiastic yeast, which helped tremendously.

She took her confusion and aggression out on the dough, kneading it until it was smooth and elastic before setting it in a bowl to proof near the window. A window which looked out on a part of the garden she had never seen, despite having walked every path and trail she'd found.

"Sometimes I think you and he like to be confusing," she muttered, washing the flour and dough off her hands at the pump. "Just for sport."

"I certainly do," said a feminine voice behind her. "But I don't think I was who you were talking to."

For a moment, Syn's heart stopped and she thought she had either gone totally mad or the house had finally decided to start speaking. Then it occurred to her to turn around.

A woman stood near the doorway and Syn's relief at not being crazy or having a talking house was quickly replaced by concern that there was a strange woman standing in her kitchen.

Her initial snappish reaction was on the tip of her tongue when she took a moment to study the stranger a little closer. She was tall, long limbed and elegant, and stood with the grace that spoke of something inhuman. Her hair was dark and her eyes light. They seemed to draw Syn in, made her want to cross the room and stand closer to her. Her mouth quirked, as if she knew the effect she was having and Syn was distracted enough to look away.  
She looked like Loki. Moreover, she looked Fae. So Syn swallowed her sarcasm and dipped a bow. "Apologies, my lady, I did not know anyone was there."

"Mmm." The sound was both curious and vaguely disappointed. "I had no idea my brother had gotten himself some servants." There was a soft tap and Syn risked a glance to see that the woman had halved the distance between them and now stood next to the table, tapping her long nails on it.

"Tell me, girl," she said, drawing her words out so that every one of them sounded like a threat. "Where did he ever find you?"

Syn suddenly had a great deal of empathy for the rats the barn cats used to chase. She had the feeling she suddenly become part of a game she didn't know the rules to or what the stakes were. This was Loki's sister, apparently, or claimed to be. And she was the kind of Fae Syn had been warned about all her life. So she needed to choose her words carefully, ask for nothing and accept nothing.

"I was the price of a bargain he made," Syn told her. Bargains were the bread and butter of the Fae, surely she would not think it odd that Loki had acquired a serving girl in one.

But the woman's eyes widened in surprise, then narrowed in suspicion. "A bargain? What sort of bargain?"

That feeling of being prey was getting stronger. She thought of calling for Loki, but didn't want to use his name in front of the woman, in case she wasn't truly his sister. If she was honest with herself, she wasn't even sure he'd come if she called.

Still, he was probably the better person to play this game. There was nothing she wanted more than to get out of this room. She started edging along the counter, backing towards the door that usually led to the back stairs. "Perhaps it would be best if you spoke to the master?"

The woman smiled, a dangerous curve of her mouth that reminded Syn of Loki's smile in the early days. "No, I think I prefer talking to you. Don't you want to stay and talk to me?"

She had become more beautiful. Syn had enough sense left to recognize that, to know it meant she was using her magic in some way. It muddled her senses, made her forget why she was trying to leave. She'd had somewhere she wanted to go, someone she wanted to find. But it would be far easier to stay here and talk with this woman. Answer any questions she had.

No, that wasn't right. She didn't trust this woman. . . did she? She seemed trust worthy. Kind even.

Before starting the dough, Syn had started heating the oven so it would be nice and hot for baking the bread once it had risen. She could feel the heat radiating out from it where she stood, even through her skirts. The deep, animal instinct part of her that remembered being prey and did not want to be eaten recognized the source of the heat and flung her arm towards it, pressing the back of her hand to the metal oven door.

Searing pain shot up her arm, snapping whatever hold the woman held over. Syn screamed, as loud as she could, no words, just a cry of pain and fear. A heartbeat later the door slammed open to reveal Loki and Fenris.

She had a moment to appreciate the look of concern on his face. Then he took in the scene and his usual detached aloofness slipped back into place. "Sister!" he said, in the tone one might welcome wasps at their picnic. He clasped his hands behind his back, strolling around the large prep table in the middle of the room. "What an unexpected surprise. You should have announced yourself properly, rather than pestering the help."

Fenris had immediately gone to Syn's side, positioning himself between her and Loki's sister. She stroked his head with her unburned hand and he pressed against her legs, gently herding towards the back door.

The sister had that predator smile on. "Nonsense, we were having a lovely conversation. And you know how I like to surprise my baby brother."

Loki had completed his circuit and now stood between them, blocking his sister's view of Syn. "And yet I continue to hate your surprises."

Syn reached the door and fumbled the knob, tugging it open and sliding out of the kitchen, Fenris at her heels. They were in her work shop and she strode to the table, sticking her hand in a bucket of water to stop the burn. Fenris whined and leaned on her again and she sank to her knees, wrapped an arm around the wolf. "I'm all right," she whispered. "I'll be all right."

*

Loki heard the door click shut behind Syn and allowed himself to relax fractionally. "What are you doing here, Hela?" he said, dropping any pretense of civility.

His sister smiled, gaze drifting to the door Syn had gone through. "You've been keeping secrets, little brother."

"Hard to tell anyone my comings and going here in exile. There was no rule set in place that I couldn't acquire a servant if I saw the opportunity."

"She said she was the price of a bargain." Hela looked like she'd finally caught the canary. "What could a neutered fae such as yourself do for a human."

Loki ground his teeth. "My dealings are my business, not yours. I've not broken my bonds, or the council or Father would be here. So, again, what are you doing here Hela?"

She huffed out an annoyed breath and traced a fingertip along the grain pattern of the kitchen table. "Mother was fretting about you the other day. I have business to attend to in the human world so I thought I would check on you on my way through. Assure her you hadn't succumbed to frothing madness yet."

Despite their often volatile relationships, the one thing Loki and his siblings all agreed on was their love of their mother. So he believed Hela would go out of her way to check on him if Mother was worrying. Even if she'd make an effort to do it in the most annoying way possible. "You may assure Mother I'm well enough. No madder than usual."

"And your little friend?" she teased, showing her teeth.

"I'm sure Mother will be happy to hear I have someone cooking my meals and ensuring I eat." There would be gossip as soon as Hela returned home, he knew that. It would probably mean more visitors. But there was nothing he could do about that, short of killing his sister and burying her in the garden. And even that would probably mean someone would show up looking for her.

Hela looked displeased, aware she hadn't really won any information from him. "Anything else?"

"No. I'm sure you're eager to hurry along to your appointment." She sniffed, but turned to go to the door. "Oh, Hela?" He put what little Power he could access into saying her true name. She turned back and looked at him. "If you ever try to bewitch my servant again I'll rip your heart out through your ribs."

Her face split in a grin. "There's the baby brother I remember." She sketched him a bow and let herself out the door. He caught a glimpse of the Wild Lands that buffered the worlds of men and fae, then the door closed with a quiet click. He was sure if he opened it now it would show him only the front hall or something equally benign.

Instead, he turned and strode through the door Syn had escaped through. To his relief, the house obligingly deposited him in her workshop. There he found her perched on a stool, Fenris at her feet, smearing some goo onto her injured hand.

"According to the book it will help it heal quicker, though it doesn't say anything about pain relief. For that I should probably use willow bark." She was clearly speaking to herself - or the wolf - as she turned to scan the contents of her messy work table. "I have some here somewhere. You can just chew it, but it's bitter. Tea is better but-"

"The kitchen is safe again," he told her, stopping at the other end of the table to give her space.

She looked back at him, eyes cautious but not afraid. "She's gone?" He nodded. "What did she want?"

"Ostensibly to check up on me. More likely to stick pins and poke old wounds. I think your presence threw her for a loop." He tilted his head. "What did she do to make you burn yourself?"

Syn chewed her lip. "She was asking me questions and I didn't want to answer. I think she was trying to. . . bewitch me into obeying."

He felt a new spike of anger at his sister, and a bit at himself. "I owe you an apology."

She shook her head. "You didn't-"

"I did. I brought you here, kept you here, made you a target - however unwittingly - and have no power to protect you."

He watched her brow furrow. "What do you mean?" The brow smoothed a bit and her eyes narrowed. "Why was she surprised you could make a bargain?"

Loki sighed, feeling his carefully constructed air of mystery crumbling around him. "Come. Show me whatever it was you wanted to make into tea and I'll try to explain."

He found the little sachet she directed him to, then held the door open for her, relieved it still led to the kitchen. He set the kettle on to start heating and found a mug to put the sachet in. "It may have already come to your notice. But I'm not quite like other Fae."

"I don't meet a wide range," she told him, sitting at the prep table and watching him.

Of course not. He sighed again. "I am here. In this house between the realms. Because I am being punished."

She was quiet a moment. "Why?"

"I played one trick too many. A. . . I suppose you might call him a cousin of mine was killed. His mother demanded my head, my mother - her long enemy - insisted it hadn't been my fault but his hubris. My father thought banishment and binding would make both parties happy. I don't believe it made anyone happy. But here I am."

The kettle was steaming so he lifted it and poured it over the sachet before bringing her the mug.

She was watching him with those damned green eyes of hers. "What do you mean, bound?"

He pushed up one of his sleeves enough for her to see the chains branded into the skin. She blanched at the sight of the red scars marring his pale skin. He saw her fingers twitch, as if she thought of touching him, but didn't dare. "My magic is bound. I cannot use it, save for very specific circumstances."

"But. . . you made a bargain with my father. The harvest, the sheep-"

"A small matter, to make plants grow and rams rut. And he came to the stones and asked of his own free will, and a price was agreed upon. It was all done very properly and so I was able to flex against the binds, just a bit." It had been painful, of course, probably in the same way her hand had hurt. But it had felt good to use his magic, even that little. "It has been several hundred years since the curse was cast, perhaps it's losing its strength." In another millennia he might be able to conjure up a glass of water.

She sipped her tea, then made a face and reached for a honey pot he didn't think had been on the table before. She drizzled a few spoonfuls in, looking thoughtful. "Why did they give you a house that took care of your every need? If you're being punished."

Loki snorted a laugh and glanced up at the ceiling. "Without magic a Fae can be killed. Can even starve, under the right circumstances. What sort of punishment would it be if it was so easy for me to escape it."

Her eyes turned soft, sympathetic. "Is there any way to break the curse?"

Fenris looked up at him and whined but he ignored him. "My mother tried to put a. . . caveat on it. But it's nothing likely to happen." He shook his head. "I'm afraid this is my fate. And I'm afraid I've dragged you into it as well."

Sinking onto a stool across from her, he folded his hands on the rough wood to help resist the urge to reach for hers. "Fae like to play games with one another. I'm sure you've heard tales." Given her knowledge of the Fae rules, she'd probably heard them all. "Most things are fair game, but it's generally frowned upon to try and prey upon another's human. . ." He searched for the right words. Something accurate but not insulting.

"Pets?" she offered, with an arched brow.

Loki sincerely hoped he wasn't blushing. "Yes. Well. Because I have no magic, and thus no Power or weapons to play the game, there are those, like my sister, who won't respect such unwritten rules."

Syn was quiet, sipping her tea again. "Are you likely to have more guests?"

His mouth thinned out. "I have a brother who visits now and then. He won't harm you, though he may try to seduce you." He ignored her arched brow. "It's possible Hela will come back, though not immediately. If for some reason my father visits I would strongly suggest you hide in your rooms until he's gone."

"I've no desire to meet the Erl King, thank you very much."

"He'd be flattered to know his reputation precedes him." Loki looked down at her hand. A blister was starting to form, about the size of his thumbnail. "Will you be all right?"

She lifted her hand to examine it, turning it. "I think so. It hurts, which means the burn didn't go down too deep. And the gel from the plant is helping." She sipped her tea again. "I think I'll have the house finish baking my bread, though."

It occurred to him that he should let her go. It was his bargain, his price. He could let her go. She would be safe, back home in her little town, away from him.

The words were on the tip of his tongue, but she spoke first, "Would you care to join me in the library? I think I'm done being productive for the day." Then she smiled at him and the words died in his throat. If she left, he would miss her.

He had gotten into the mess because he was a selfish bastard and clearly he hadn't learned anything.

Standing, he offered her his arm. "The library it is."

Her gaze went from his face to the proffered arm. Then she smiled again and reached up, tucking her hand into the crook of his arm and standing.


	5. Chapter 5

Time passed. Syn's hand healed and scarred, despite her ministrations. She grew used to the pale, shiny blotch. At times she was almost fond of it, a physical reminder of the day she had at least some of Loki's mysteries answered.

He was. . . different, after his sister's visit. Perhaps he relaxed, knowing she knew his secrets and he no longer had to hide. He smiled more. Laughed more. Their evenings in the library involved more teasing and jesting than actual reading. She read him ridiculous passages from the romances she found in the dustier corners of the library. And Loki, she discovered, had a talent for dramatic readings of over wrought poetry that left her breathless and clutching her sides in laughter.

Though she knew months had to have gone by since she'd first come to the castle, the garden and the views from the windows showed no sign of the passage of seasons. Sometimes it felt as if she was repeating the same day, over and over again.

One morning, after eating breakfast and washing the dishes, she put a hand on the usual door that lead to the garden and paused. She suddenly had the feeling that if she spend one more day puttering in the garden and workshop she would go mad.

"Take me somewhere new," she told the door. "Somewhere in the castle I've never been."

There was no response, as always, but when she opened the door it didn't open out onto the garden but a long dim hallway. At first glance she thought it was the hall he had led her through on the first night. But the carpet was a brighter green and the walls had patterned wall paper between the doors rather that solid wood.

She stepped through, feet sinking into the thick plush of the carpet. The door swung shut behind her after she took a few steps inside. The first door she tried was locked, which surprised her, as she had never come across a locked door in the castle. She decided that was probably a sign she had no business seeing or touching whatever was in that room, and went on her way.

A large painting hung on the wall to her left and she paused to look at it. It was a family portrait, a man and woman and three children who looked to be in their teens. The man was silver haired with a thick beard and an eyepatch. His wife was seated beside him, golden hair piled on her head and decorated with jewels. She was the only one in the portrait who was smiling, just barely, mirth twinkling in her eyes.

Next to the seated woman was a girl Syn recognized as Hela. She was in a black gown, hair loose around her face. Her eyes stared out of the painting as if she might leap forth and attack at any moment. Syn felt uncomfortable looking at even a painted version of her and turned her attention to the boy standing beside the old man. He was blond and broad, dressed in crimson and gold. His hair was shaggy and he had a full beard. His eyes twinkled the same way his mother's did.

On the other side of him was a boy who was undeniably Loki. Thinner than his brother, but just as tall, he stood stiff and formal, though his face looked like he didn't want to be there. As if it were beneath him.

Syn smiled a little. Clearly, he had always been as he was.

She continued along the hall. Beside the next door was a portrait of just the woman from the other painting. Here she was a little younger and smiling widely, holding an infant with a mop of dark hair. Syn touched the ornately carved frame, studying the portrait. It occurred to her that this might be Loki's private wing.

"Should I even be here?" she asked quietly.

The scones beside her dimmed slowly and flared back to full brightness. Syn had the distinct impression that the house had just shrugged at her.

Well, the first door had been locked. So clearly certain things that needed hiding were hidden. Logically, then, if the door was unlocked, it wasn't something he felt needed hiding or protection. And she liked to think she had a healthy sense of self preservation. If anything looked like it might explode or turn her into a frog she would turn around and walk away.

The next door opened but contained only more paintings. These were not portraits, but landscapes and other nature scenes. She did a little stroll around the room, peering at the paintings. Some were quite normal, a forest, a group of riders and horses chasing a fox. Some were of places she had never seen but knew were real. A waterfall, a desert, a line of mountains topped with snow.

But the others. The others were of completely impossible places. Mountains of crystal and glass, reflecting the colors of a sunset. A forest made of trees she didn't recognize. The longer she looked at it, the stranger it got. Eyes seemed to appear in the shadows under the branches and she found herself taking a step back, heart pounding.

She left the room, not wanting to see the rest of them.

The next room was empty but felt oddly ominous. It looked like a perfectly normal room, wooden floor, painted walls, curtains on the window across from her. But there was something about it that made her feel like it wasn't as much empty as. . . waiting. She decided to listen to that good old self preservation and close the door without stepping inside.

She came across two more locked doors and a room full of old clothes that smelled of cedar and old linen before coming across another room worth going into. It seemed to be some sort of storage or hodge podge room. There was some old furniture, a big shelf with knick knacks and some boxes, and various shapes covered in sheets.

The door stayed open behind her, whether because she willed it or the house understood she might like a fast getaway. Nothing here seemed particularly ominous, not like the paintings or the empty room, but it seemed prudent to have a ready escape.

There was an old writing desk stained with ink, a dried out pot still sitting in the ink hole. A large overstuffed chair leaking fluff, with a leg that looked like Fenris might have used it as a teether. A rug rolled up and leaning against the wall.

On the shelf there were a few small sculptures, one of an elk, another of a dragon curled around a stone. A third portrayed a couple dancing. The woman's dress flared out, the stone carved so finely it seemed almost translucent in places. Syn carefully ran a finger along the folds of the skirt, amazed at the craftsmanship.

Below the sculptures was a wooden box that proved to be a jewelry box when opened. There was a thick, golden bracelet that looked like intertwined vines. Next to it sat a ring with a large emerald. There were several pairs of earrings. The box next to it held a choker style necklace made of woven gold dotted with diamonds and emeralds. Syn didn't dare touch any of the jewelry, for fear of spells. But she stared at them as long as she liked, imagining being the sort of woman who might wear such things.

She closed the boxes and moved on, tugging a sheet off one of the shapes, revealing a mirror. It was a long oval and stood a bit taller than her. It was clearly old, much older than her, but the glass didn't appear to have warped or cracked at all. Runes were inscribed into the thick wooden frame and she touched one with a fingertip, tracing the lines of it and trying to remember what it meant.

A flicker of movement caught her eye and she glanced at the mirror to see a dark shape standing in the doorway. She whirled, heart in her throat, breathing only when she saw it was Loki.

"You scared me," she said, pressing a hand to her chest.

He arched a brow, arms crossed over his chest. "Snooping?"

His tone was difficult to read, she wasn't entirely sure if she was in trouble or not. "I asked the house to take me somewhere I'd never been. I ended up in this hallway."

With an exasperated glance upwards, he nodded and stepped into the room. "In the future, you might want to be more specific. I think there may still be parts of this castle I've never been in. I hate for the house to misplace you."

That almost had to be teasing, so she let herself smirk at him. "I'll keep that in mind."

He returned the smirk and let his gaze travel to the mirror she stood in front of. "I see something has caught your eye."

"Among other things." She gestured. "You have many beautiful pieces here."

"Dangerous, as well."

Syn took a deliberate step away from the mirror and he chuckled. "I did avoid the empty room," she offered.

"Wise." He was looking at the mirror. "I'd wondered where this had gone off to."

"Is it special?" she asked, turning to stand next to him as he studied it.

"It is. It's enchanted. It can show you anything you wish. In my world or yours." He looked down at her. "Is there something you'd like to see?"

She chewed her lip thoughtfully. "Could I check on my father?" she asked. "I was all he had left. I'm worried, with me gone. . ." Her father had a fondness for whiskey. He usually knew his limits and used it more as social lubricant than escape. But she recalled a time after her mother had died, and again after her brother, when he had crawled a bit too deeply into a bottle. Without her there to urge him out she didn't know what might happen.

"Of course," he said gently. She was hearing gentleness from him more often now. He had his walls up still, of course. But the glimpses behind them were becoming more frequent. She liked that man. The one who made her tea and answered her questions and read terrible poetry. The one, apparently, who was willing to let her use his magic mirror to check on her father.

He murmured a few words and touched the glass with a fingertip. The image of the two of them shimmered and flexed before dissipating like a reflection in a pond. The fractals of color and light shifted and swirled before coalescing into a new image.

Syn recognized her father's study back home, the shelves of books, the big picture window and the sturdy wooden desk. She'd spent her teen years sitting on the other side of that desk doing her sums or reciting her lessons. Or, on occasion, getting a dressing down for some mischief she and her brother had gotten into.

Currently, there was another woman in the office with her father. A woman who was bent over said sturdy desk, her skirts flipped up over her backside so that Syn's father could take her from behind. She got an eyeful of her father's arse before covering her eyes with a hand and turning away. "Ah, turn it off, turn it off!"

Loki was laughing uproariously, but she saw him wave a hand and when she risked a glance back at the mirror it showed only the two of them and the room they stood in.

"I'd say he's getting on rather well," Loki managed in a tone that suggested he was clearly struggling to keep calm. She glared at him a moment, trying her best to embody righteous fury. But the utter ridiculousness of the situation hit her and she found herself laughing, which set him off again.

"Oh, gods, I need a drink," she finally said, wiping her watering eyes.  
He gestured to the door. "That I should be able to arrange without scarring you for life."

They had to walk down the hall, but when she opened the door she had originally come through it led to his study. Loki put a hand on the small of her back to urge her through, guiding her to one of the chairs by the fire before continuing on to a sideboard and pouring two glasses of a red liquid.

He handed her one before taking a seat across from her. He swirled his drink and she did the same, holding it in two hands for fear of dropping the fine crystal. "How long have I been here?" she asked him.

"At the castle?" He tilted his head as if counting in his head. "About half a year. You came at mid summer and we're almost at Yule."

It didn't feel that long, but at the same time it felt like much longer. Sometimes she could barely recall the life she'd had before coming here. What had a normal day been like for her? What had she done with herself? Would she even recognize it if she went back?

"I'm glad he's found someone," she said. "Father. I was afraid he'd spend too much time blaming himself."

Loki arched a brow. "Was it not his fault?"

She lifted a shoulder. "I volunteered to come. He'd planned to hold a lottery, to make every unmarried girl put her name in. It didn't seem fair. He'd made the bargain. And besides, I had few other prospects."

"You were training to be a healer."

"Surprisingly, not a career that has the men beating a path to one's door." She sighed and breathed in the scent of the liquor.

"You said your father would be alone." Loki sipped his drink, swirling it in his mouth a little before continuing, "Have you no siblings?"

"I had a brother," she told him. "He left for war a few years ago. He never came back."

His eyes turned soft. "Dead in battle."

"We assume. There was never any official word. It's possible once his service was done he ran off to restart his life. But I think he would have contacted me somehow. He may have fought with Father now and then, but we were close. He'd tell me he was all right, if he could." She sniffed her drink again before hesitantly putting it to her lips.

It was warm from her hands, and coated her tongue with the taste of berries and spice. It reminded her of winter mornings and dried herbs and cozy fires. There was no burn from the alcohol, but warmth seemed to spread through her as it settled in her stomach. This was the sort of drink that made people wary of Fae food.

"Who taught you all our rules," Loki asked, as if reading her mind. She suspected he had just noticed her hesitancy in drinking.

"My mother," she said, risking another sip. "She died just after I came of age, a year before my brother left. She told fairy stories my whole childhood. Used to claim she was a changeling girl who never found her way back home."

That seemed to capture his interest. "Do you think she was?"

"I don't know." She looked down in her glass. "She was odd. Loved nature and plants. Hated to wear shoes. And she was. . . very calm. Nothing ever seemed to upset her or throw her off balance. Like water off a duck's back, my father would say." She tucked her legs up and took a bigger drink. It tasted pleasant and made her feel good. Bewitchment be damned. "I suppose I'm odd, too."

"I'm afraid I don't meet a wide range of mortals, so I wouldn't know. But I suspect most would not blithely walk into a Fae's house and take over his garden and kitchen."

"It wasn't _that_ blithely."

He smiled, but didn't answer, nursing his drink.

"You have a brother," she said. "I saw in the painting."

Loki made a face that was a bit amused, a bit exasperated. "Yes. I do. Older than me but younger than our sister."

"And very blonde."

"Very." He shook his head. "He is better than the both of us, than our father. Good natured, kind. Never tricked a human, never caused harm intentionally. Sees the best in everyone. Often exhausting."

Syn laughed because despite his words it was all said with an undercurrent of fondness. "Does he visit you?"

"More than anyone else. He holds out hope we'll find a way to break the curse. Seems to think I have mended my ways and will rejoin society with no further repercussions."

"And you think this is unlikely."

He tipped his head back. "Even indulging in the hypothetical that I might get out of this predicament at all, my people are not ones to forgive easy. I'm sure my aunt would spend the rest of her days trying to kill me for killing her son. My father would be vaguely embarrassed and frustrated his clever little plan hadn't worked forever. And I've been away for so long. . . I don't know if I'm one of them any more."

It was so similar to what she had been thinking lately, she couldn't help but feel sympathy. He had said this place existed between their worlds and it seemed to be true. It didn't feel normal or comfortable to either of them. If she felt like a new and stranger person who could never go home after six months, how did he feel after centuries.

"I suppose no one can ever really find our way back home," she said quietly.

Loki smiled and raised his glass to her. She leaned forward and tapped hers against his and his smile widened a little.

For a brief, wild moment, she wondered what it would be like to kiss him. He would taste of the liquor, and some mysterious flavor that was distinctly his. One of those big hands would cup the back of her head, or perhaps flatten on her back to draw her closer.

Syn put her glass down on the table beside her. Clearly she had had enough.

If Loki noticed her moment of distraction, he didn't comment. "I would suggest, next time you go wandering, you allow me to accompany you. I don't know all the secrets my father hid away in this place."

"I think I will be quite content in my garden for a while," she assured him. "After today's adventures."

His mouth quirked. "Understandable. In that case, perhaps an early tea and hiding in the library?"

"Sounds excellent." She stood and he did as well, suddenly looming over her. She found herself watching his mouth again and this time was almost certain he noticed. His eyes darkened a bit and he went very, very still. "Have you ever used that mirror?" she asked him, voice soft.

"Occasionally," he admitted, just as quiet. "Sometimes it hurts more than helps."

She imagined so. Her world was small and simple and in many ways similar to what she did now. For the most part, this was better than whatever future was waiting for her. But whatever grand life he had left certainly made this seem small and sad. "I'm sorry."

He inclined his head in acknowledgement, then gestured to the door. "Tea?"

She nodded and turned away, taking a deep breath as they walked to the door.


	6. Chapter 6

Generally, Loki didn't care much about the passage of time. He wasn't even sure how long he had been here in exile. After the first few decades, it hadn't really mattered anymore. One day was like another and the weather outside never changed. At least in the main parts of the house. There were places, though, high in the towers, where he could see the world the way it was, the wild lands that the house really sat in. Even there, there were no real seasons. No summer sun, no winter snow. Just seething purple skies and intermittent storms.

But there was one day of the year he marked, every year. The only day that mattered. The day when despite his bonds he could taste magic again and remember what it was like.

The whole house felt it, though he knew Syn and Fenris didn't really understand why. The wolf was unusually restless, whining quietly and sniffing at the windows. Loki let him out in the gardens so he could romp with more freedom and check the perimeter to his heart's content.

Syn seemed to be feeling the same unease. Loki generally stayed out of her way during the day, but when they crossed paths she seemed distracted and irritable. She pruned her plants with vigor and in the kitchen he heard her taking out her bad mood on some undeserving dough. At dinner she was quiet, poking at her food and excusing herself from their usual communal reading to retire early.

Perhaps he should have explained it to her, at least so she wouldn't think herself mad for the mood swings. She was already abed when he thought of it, and it didn't seem worth disturbing her. In truth, he was relieved she had turned in early. He was ready to come out of his skin and eagerly climbed the long flight of stairs the house provided him, up to the battlements.

There, he stepped out onto the parapet into the whipping wind of a building storm. It was chilly, but he hardly noticed. He set his sights on the horizon, waiting.

He didn't have to wait long, perhaps half an hour, before he heard it. The low note of a hunting horn. It filled his chest, pushing out the air and making his heart pound. The wind slowed, then stilled and he heard the next note, and then another.

Gripping the edge of the balustrade, he leaned forward, just a little, listening for the next sound he knew would come. But it was a sound behind him that caught his attention, the light scrape of the door opening.

"What is that sound?" Syn asked as he twisted to look at her. She was dressed in a night rail and robe, hair unbound and stirring in the wind. The sight of her was a punch in the gut, attraction he had been ignoring - fighting - swept through him at full force.

It was on the tip of his tongue to tell her to go away, back to her room and lock the door. But she was already moving to stand beside him, looking out at the Wild Lands in wonder. And so, he answered her question, instead. "It's the first call of the Wild Hunt."

She sucked in a breath, eyes darting back and forth and she searched the landscape for any movement. "The Hunt? It's real?"

He watched her a moment, the way those bright green eyes moved, the awe in her expression. "It is. One night a year when everything blurs a bit and the Erl King leads his riders through the realms."

"Did you ever ride in it?"

He looked back to the horizon, seeing the faintest shadow of motion. "Many times. It's. . . exhilarating. Intoxicating. Your world and ours blend and meld and magic seeps through it all, choking the air from your lungs. It's only a night but it can seem to last an eternity."

Her hands were gripping the stone railing in front of her. He wondered what she was thinking, or feeling, when he heard it. The rhythm of hooves.

The riders appeared on the horizon, first as formless shadows, then as dark figures. They moved impossibly fast, eating up miles in a matter of steps. The sound of their horses' hoofbeats seemed to come from everywhere at once, loud as thunder, throbbing through Loki, until his heart beat with the rhythm and he could feel it everywhere.

With the riders came magic, wild and untamed, seeking purpose. His bindings burned, but it didn't feel like pain but pleasure tightening his chest and heating his blood.

He risked and glance at Syn, knowing as he did it it was a mistake but unable to help himself. It was clear from her flushed cheeks and parted lips she felt it to. He chest rose and fell rapidly, and on the inhalations he caught glimpses of skin through the gap in her robe.

Without meaning to, he stepped closer to her, crowding into her space. Dipping his head, he caught a whiff of her scent, sweet and summer sharp. "You're feeling the magic. When the veil between the worlds thins magic goes wild."

Pressing a hand to her chest she whispered, "I can feel it, right here. Like the thrum of a harp string." She looked up at him. "Why can I feel it? I'm not Fae."

"Some humans are sensitive to it. Some could stand next to the Hunt and never notice."

"You can feel it? Even with your curse?"

"Yes," he murmured, bending closer still to nuzzle at her hair. It was as soft and silky as it looked and he had to stifle a groan. "It's the one time of year I can feel magic again."

Her hand curled around his hip as she turned slightly towards him. "This is what it feels like to wield magic?"

Unable to resist any longer, he pressed a kiss to her hair, making her shiver. "No. This is what it feels like to have magic wield you."

The riders were closer now. If he looked he might be able to pick out his father and brother, or some of his old friends. But for once in his long exile, there was something more interesting than the Hunt. He remembered in his youth, when he'd ridden in the Hunt, there would always be a welcoming woman - or two - to greet him at the end, eager to share a night with him, drunk on magic and mischief. In exile he'd had to manage with his own hand and his imagination.  
But now, tonight, there was her. Warm and soft and smelling of summer and thrumming with magic as much as he was. He wanted her, and not just because of the Hunt, though that had certainly stripped away any inhibitions he had about acting on the feelings. She had been slipping behind his walls for months now. Her smile, her laugh. The way she teased him, just a little. Just enough to make him laugh. The way her eyes turned soft and kind when she asked him questions she knew would be hard to answer.

He thought she wanted him as well. He had caught a glance here and a blush there that made him think he had as much an effect on her as she did him. But he wasn't sure, and even with the wild magic making his blood and cock throb in equal measure, he wouldn't force a woman.

Shifting a little, he blocked her view of the land and riders, hoping it would clear her head a little. He still loomed over her and she watched him, eyes dark and deep as the forest. "Go back to your room," he whispered softly. "I cannot promise to be a gentleman tonight."

Her eyes widened briefly. Then she smiled, that wry, twisted smile that drove him mad. She went up on her toes, close enough her lips brushed his when she spoke. "If I ran, would you chase me?"

The sound that came out of him was a growl. Syn nipped his lip gently and took a step back, holding his gaze. "You have to give me a head start," she warned. "Or it won't be fair."

For a moment, he warred with himself. She was mortal and the magic was intoxicating. But he had told her to run and she had teased him instead. That was real desire he saw in her eyes, not the magic. "One," he said slowly, feeling the anticipation of the hunt pound through him.  
She grinned and took a step backwards. When he said, "Two," she whirled and ran down the steps.

He counted to five, loud enough for her to hear, then started after her.  
It was a miracle neither of them broke their necks on the spiraling stairs that led to the battlements. But she was graceful and he was nimble and there was magic in the air. He heard her giggle as the hallway door swung shut behind her and he threw it open, following the sound.

The house helped her take him on a merry chase. He was faster than her and ate up the space between them, so that he caught glimpses of her as she disappeared into this room or through that door. He let it last a few minutes, enough to get her blood pumping and his anticipation singing. When she tried to lose him in a long hallway he took his chance, hoping the house would be on his side.

He ducked into one door and she crashed into him from the other side. Grinning in triumph he wrapped his arms around her and swept her off her feet. She squealed and gasped and then his mouth crashed down on hers, silencing her.

The kiss was rough and intense, awareness cracking between them. Her arms wrapped around his neck and he buried a hand in her hair, keeping her where he wanted her. She was warm and supple in his arms, bending back with the force of his kiss. Turning, he fumbled for the door knob and yanked it open, stumbling through it.

He broke the kiss long enough to determine that the house had, fortunately, taken them to his bedroom. Closing the door, he pressed her against it and kissed her again.

Her robe had come undone somewhere along the chase and he peeled it off her, leaving her in a thin nightgown. Pressing closer, he thrust a thigh between her legs and she gasped, going up on her toes before grinding into him.

He was drowning in her scent now, and though the riders were likely long past them, he swore he still felt the pounding of the hooves thrumming through him.

Syn broke the kiss long enough to gasp and catch her breath and he took the opportunity to peel the gown up and off her, tossing it aside.

She was utterly beautiful. Long limbed and strong, arms and shoulders golden from her work in the garden sun. He longed to touch and taste every inch of her. And perhaps before the night was over he would. But for now he was content to slide to his knees before her and lift one of her legs to rest on his shoulder. She whimpered a little, clearly well aware what he was about, then he brought his mouth to her center and gave her a long lick.

"Loki," she gasped, part surprise, part arousal. He gripped her hip in one hand and held her open with the fingers of the other. There had been a time, when he'd had his magic, when he could have held her above him with merely a thought and not had to worry about her balance or his hand placement.

He pushed the thought from his mind. She was here now, and she tasted the way she smelled, sweet and summery. He licked and sucked at her clit, listening to her desperate sounds and labored breathing. Her hands buried themselves in his hair and she pulsed against him, shuddering with the force of her first climax of the night.

It took only a little coaxing to help her ride it out and directly into the next. Her nails scraped his scalp and he could feel her leg shaking. "I can't, I can't," she whispered. 

Reluctantly, he leaned back and rolled to his feet, lifting her in the same motion. She wrapped her arms around him as he carried her to the bed, pressing open mouthed kisses to his jaw and throat. He set her down on the bed and straightened to strip of his clothing.

His jacket and ascot went first, then his vest, and why in all the worlds did he wear so much damned clothing?

Syn went up on her knees and reached out to help him. Before he could stop her, she had peeled his shirt up and over his head. He froze, ardor momentarily cooling.

She leaned back, studying the pattern of criss-crossing and interwoven scars that marred his chest and arms. Hesitantly, she ran a finger along the largest one, that crossed from his right shoulder down to his left ribs. "Your bindings?" she asked softly.

He nodded. "I can put my shirt back on."

Looking up at him through her lashes, she leaned forward and ran her tongue along the same path as her finger. He shuddered at the sensation. "Don't you _dare_ ," she whispered against his skin.

He groaned, distracted from his clothes by the feel of her mouth on him. He stroked his hands through her hair, fanning it out across her back. Her hands went to the buttons of his fall, snapping them open.

When she had it open she slid her hands inside, pushing his slacks down to pool at his feet. She leaned back from his chest to look down at her handiwork and he dipped his head, catching her mouth with his. She shuddered, opening her mouth to him and licking the taste of herself off his tongue. He cupped her hips in his hands and lifted her, tipping her back onto the bed. Pausing just long enough to kick his shoes and pants off, he put a knee up and loomed over her.

For a few heartbeats they just held each other's gaze, breathing hard, as if they had both just realized what they were doing. Slowly, Syn reached up for him, sliding her hands along his chest. "Please," she whispered.

The desperation in her tone shot through him and arched his hips into her. "What do you need, pet?" He slid his erection along her slick folds, bumping the head against her clit. "This?"

She whimpered, back arching. "Yes. Please. I ache." Her fingers tangled in his hair, tugging sharply. "I need you fucking me."

Loki growled, the last thin thread of his control snapping. He shifted and thrust into her, burying himself to the hilt in one motion. She was hot and wet and tight around him and it was so intense his breath left him for a moment. It had been so long since he'd been with a woman. Lifetimes. He had almost forgotten the exquisite feel of it.

Pressing his forehead to hers, he rocked his hips gently, giving her a bit of friction as he gathered himself. Beneath him, she was breathing hard but seemed to sense his struggle and let him take his moment. Her hands had turned gentle and she stroked his hair and rubbed his shoulder.

Finally, he felt ready and began to move, sliding out of her before plunging back. After a few strokes he found a rhythm and speed that had them both moaning. Syn's back arched, head tipping back, and bent to kiss her throat, then closed his teeth over the corded tendon he found there. She whimpered and he felt her nails dig into his shoulder.

The little pricks of pain made him buck, driving into her hard and her back arched, He felt her jerk and throb around him and held her close as she rode out her climax. When she had calmed he began to move again, harder than before, the way she seemed to need it.

The rhythm of the Hunt urged him on. She had been his prey, in their wild chase through the house. A house that felt less and less like a prison the longer she lived there. He had caught her and pleased her. His prey, his lover. His.

She gasped out his name, body clenching around him again. This time he couldn't resist, driving into her as his own climax poured through him. Blood roared in his ears and for the space of a few heartbeats there was nothing in the all the worlds but him and her and the bed they shared.

They lay tangled together, breathing hard, as they calmed. Syn pressed soft, sleepy kisses to his shoulder and neck. He bent close, nuzzling her hair. He was surprised at the wave of fondness that swept through him. So many years alone. So many Hunts aching to have someone to share it with. And she had not only wanted him back, but met him stroke for stroke. His match, his equal.

"You're still hard," she murmured, winding a lock of his hair around her finger.

He chuckled darkly, bending his head to kiss her breast. "The Hunt is still running." But he took the hint and eased out of her, shifting to the side.

To his surprise, she didn't move away, but rolled onto her stomach and lifted her hips in invitation. Loki groaned and kissed the back of her shoulder as he rolled up to his knees behind her. As he slid back into her welcoming heat, he could not recall a more enjoyable Hunt Night.


	7. Chapter 7

Syn woke the next morning, slightly disoriented. She was in a large, comfortable bed, but the sheets were not hers. Sun poured in through the window, but it came at a different angle than in her room. After a moment, she became aware of breathing behind her.

Then it came back to her. The Hunt, Loki, the wild night of debauchery.

She stretched, languid and content, then rolled to face Loki, curling closer to him. To her delight, he lifted an arm and tucked it around her shoulders so she could settle her head on his shoulder. His skin was cooler than hers, but not unpleasantly so. She trailed her fingers along the brands burned into his chest. He had said it only hurt when he tried to use magic, but she wondered if it had hurt when he was first cursed.

"Is it always like that after the Hunt?" she asked him.

A chuckle vibrated through his chest before she heard it and when he spoke, his voice was raspy with sleep. "More or less."

"Any regrets?"

His hand rubbed her back. "None at all. You?"

He sounded oddly unsure and hesitant and she kissed his shoulder. "None." The intoxicating thrum of last night's magic had faded, but she didn't want him any less. And the fact he was holding and touching her reassured her he felt the same.

They lay there, his big hand rubbing her back tenderly and his heart beating under her cheek. Syn could have stayed there all day, but all too soon, nature called and certain parts of her anatomy started to complain about their treatment the night before.

Sighing, she shifted uncomfortably and he lifted his arm, looking down at her. "Sore?"

A lie was on the tip of her tongue but she looked up at his face and thought better of it. "A bit."

He frowned and stroked his fingertips along her cheek, tucking her hair back. "I'm sorry. I should have been gentler."

"Nonsense, I seem to recall begging you to be rougher several times." His mouth twitched like he was trying not to grin. She stretched up and kissed him. "I enjoyed every moment last night. A nice hot bath will cure all my aches and pains."

Mollified, he cupped the back of her head and kissed her again, deep and firm enough to make her shiver and wonder if maybe she wasn't that sore after all.

"Go," he murmured against her mouth, one hand reaching down to squeeze her ass. "Enjoy your bath."

She really didn't want to get up, but her body was growing louder in its protests, so she gave him one last little nuzzle to breathe in his scent, and rolled away, gingerly climbing off the bed. 

She found her night rail on the ground and slipped it on on her way to the door. Before she opened it, she looked back at him, lounging in bed, bare chested and watching her with dark eyes.

Impulsively, she lifted a hand and blew him a kiss. He grinned and made a fist as if he had caught it. Feeling light as a feather, she pulled the door open and stepped into the hallway outside of her room.

The house kindly provided her with some scented bath salts that softened the water and eased her aches and pains. She lay in the bath water until it cooled, then took her time getting dressed in her softest, most comfortable dress.

In the kitchen, she made herself some chamomile to drink and another, stronger pot, to use in balm for her sore legs. She had enough energy to toast some bread, but asked the house to handle the eggs and ham. It was probably too late in the day for breakfast, but she'd burned a lot of energy the night before and needed something hearty.

If she let her mind wander too far, it inevitably went back to the night before. She had not considered herself innocent before coming here. She'd had three lovers in her life, two in town and one over a summer spent in the capital. They had, in their very nature, been stolen moments and clandestine meetings. Never had she had the time or opportunity to spend an entire night exploring every possible way to please each other.

Of course, sharing a bed with a centuries old Fae was probably a good way to learn a few new ways. Some of the things he'd done to her last night were probably illegal in her little village.

She could feel her face heating, and an unmistakeable moisture gathering between her thighs. She shook her head as if to shake the thoughts out of her mind. It was probably inevitable she was going to spend the rest of the day aroused and fantasizing. It had been almost two years since her last dalliance and that had ended poorly. And part of her had thought that by coming here she had lost any chance of having such a night again.

After a detour into her workshop to whip up a balm for her legs, she retrieved a book from the library and brought them both out to the garden. There was a little grassy hill off the path near the roses and there she settled, hiking her skirt up to massage the balm into her legs, then lay back to read her book at let the heat of the sun warm her sore muscles.

At some point, she dozed off, a combination of a full stomach, warm sun, and not much sleep the night before. Her dreams were soft and hazy, like the day around her. She roused only when a dark shadow passed over her.

She smiled and cracked an eye open to see Loki there. "You're looming," she told him, reaching out to pat the grass. "Join me."

With the sun behind him, she couldn't see his expression, but he did turn to sit beside her. "I didn't mean to disturb you."

"I'm not disturbed," she assured him. "But I'm happy to have some company."

He trailed cool fingertips along her arm. "It occurred to me, you might want to discuss what happened las night."

She opened her eyes and looked up at him. "Do _you_ want to discuss it?"

He looked uncomfortable and glanced away, though his fingers stayed on her arm. "I know you said you had no regrets. But with the influence of the Hunt and we didn't talk much before hand. . ."

Syn shifted and sat up beside him. "You didn't force me, Loki."

"You're certain?"

She wondered idly how many men in her village would be concerned about this. Perhaps Fae were more evolved. "I admit the magic last night lowered some inhibitions. But if we're being candid, I've wanted you a long time." He smiled, looking smug, but she supposed he deserved it. "Do you regret it? You were as moved by the Hunt as I was and you were debasing yourself with a mere mortal."

The smile turned sly and wicked, and he leaned closer to kiss and nibble her throat. "Dabbling with mortals is a time honored tradition for my kind."

Letting her eyes drift shut, she murmured, "Dabbling, are you?"

"Mmm. Enthusiastically."

"Does that mean you want to do it again?"

He leaned back and looked at her, eyes wide. "Now? You said you were sore-"

She laughed at the look on his face and the horror in his tone. "I am. I didn't mean to strip you right here. I just meant. . . in general."

The smiled returned. "Ah, yes." He bent close and kissed her mouth, sweet and tender. "Yes," he said softly. "I very much want to do it again. In general. Often."

There was a promise in his eyes and it made her shiver as much as his words. She closed her eyes and rested her forehead on his, breathing in the sharp wintery scent of his. "Good."

Despite her best efforts and remedies, she was still twinging a bit by dinner time. They did their usual time in the library together and he gave her an almost chaste kiss when they parted ways. She took another bath, seeped in lavender, and slept like the dead.

The next day she forced herself to work in the garden a bit, stretching out the last of her sore muscles. She went to dinner, hoping it would be the start of a seduction, but Loki seemed determined to give her more rest. And, regrettably, other than outright requesting a good tumble, she didn't know how to convince him otherwise. She supposed that would be an effective tactic, but without the excuse of intoxicating magic, she couldn't quite bring herself to say it.

By the third night of gentle, chaste kisses in the hallway she was becoming ready to throw decorum out the window. She went down to breakfast the next morning in a skirt and blouse without stays, the lacing undone just a little farther than socially appropriate.

They spoke politely as they always did, and though she watched him carefully, she didn't catch him sneaking any glances at her bared skin. Clearly, she was going to need to find less subtle methods. Perhaps the house would help her and she could just present herself at his bed chamber in a robe and a smile.

For now, the garden beckoned, though she thought she might spend at least some of her day lounging in the sun and fantasizing all the things she wasn't doing with Loki. She stood, inclining her head to him and was surprised when he caught her arm and drew her closer to his chair.

Now his gaze drifted down to her breasts and she felt the heat of it like a touch. "I've not seen this shirt before," he said quietly.

She had no idea he had her wardrobe cataloged. "I usually wear it under a dress," she offered.

"Mmm." He reached up and ran his finger along the neckline. "It is rather revealing."

Her breath caught in her throat. "Is it? I suppose I never noticed."

He tugged her again, moving her to stand between his chair and the table. Raising his gaze to hers, he slowly stood. "Are you still sore?" he murmured, hands bracketing her hips.

Anticipation started to pool inside her, chased by hot arousal. "No. I'm quite well."

In response, he only smiled. His hands tightened on her and he lifted her off her feet, setting her back to sit on the table behind her. Once she was seated, one hand slid up to tug open the laces of his shirt and the other slid down to start gathering up her skirt. By the time it had made its way to the soft skin of her thigh he had one of her breasts free, swirling his thumb over the taut nipple. He bent to kiss her and she opened her mouth and her thighs for him at the same time.

His fingers teased and explored her. She was already a bit damp from anticipation and his long, limber fingers coaxed more moisture out of her quickly. Once again she marveled at the skills hundreds of years of practice could give a man. She spread her legs wider, giving him more access and felt her skirt rake up over her knees. He murmured his approval into her mouth and stroked his fingers on opposite sides of her clit, making her gasp.

He released her mouth to bend his head and kiss down her chest and take her nipple in his mouth. She had been holding his shoulders but now she reached down and braced her hands behind her, arching up to present herself to him. This earned her another moan of approval and she smiled, eyes drifting closed as she soaked in the pleasure.

She had begun lifting her hips up into his touch when he turned his hand slightly and those two long, thick fingers slid into her eager sex. Syn moaned, shuddering at the sensation of them filling her.

"That's it, pet," he murmured. She opened her eyes to find him leaning back a little, watching her. "You're beautiful when you come, did you know that?"

His words pierced her, fanning the heat of her arousal as sure as any touch. She didn't trust her voice, but he seemed to be waiting for an answer, so she shook her head.

"You are," he assured her, fucking her slowly with those clever fingers of his. "The way you tremble and pulse around me. The way your skin flushes. You shine." His fingers quickened and she whimpered, throwing her head back. "Come for me, pet," he whispered, laving her nipple with his tongue. "Let me see it." He closed his lips around the peak and sucked, hard.  
She felt the pull of it deep inside her, as if there was a direct connection between her breast and her clit, arching her back like a bow. The pleasure that had been building in her snapped, and she clenched around his thrusting fingers. The climax swept through her, wave after wave of bliss, until she sank back flat on the table, panting for breath.

His fingers slipped out of her and she whimpered at the loss. Then she heard a rustle of fabric and he gripped her hips, dragging her to the edge of the table. She had a moment of instability and a heartbeat of panic she might fall, then he hooked his arms under her legs and lifted them, stepping closer.

She felt the head of his cock part her folds, then he was sinking into her, maddeningly slowly. When he reached his hilt he braced his hands on the table, looming over her. The sound he made was both pleasure and relief. "Just as I remember," he murmured, pulling out of her before rocking forward again. "Hot and welcoming."

She found herself smiling. "Always," she told him, curling her hands around his upper arms. He grinned and bent to kiss her breast.

He settled into a slow, steady pace, plunging deep before easing out. Each stroke sent shivering heat through her, but it wasn't enough, not enough to tip her over again. At first she thought he was teasing her, winding her up. But when the rhythm didn't increase or waiver, she found herself arching up to him. "Harder. Please, harder. More."

His breathing was ragged. "Don't want to hurt you."

Opening her eyes, she caught his gaze. "Fuck me. Harder," she insisted. "Your pet is not delicate or fragile."

He groaned, but slid his hands down her legs to tug her even farther over the edge of the table, shifting his stance to pound into her faster. "No," he whispered, something like affection threaded in with the passion. "No you are not."

There, finally, was the strength she needed. Her hands fisted in the cloth of his jacket as she bucked beneath him, struggling to lift herself to meet his strokes. She wondered, wildly, why they both wore so much damned clothing. He still had his bloody jacket on. Perhaps she could convince him to wander the house in just shirts and shifts. So that at any opportunity he could tip her over a table or she could climb into his lap.

The image of straddling him as he tried to read in this big leather chair was the last little bit of stimulation she needed. Her climax spread through her in pulsing waves. She heard him groan as she clenched on him, but he kept moving, seeking his own pleasure. She was barely aware of it, lost in her own bliss. Her grip on his jacket didn't waver, holding him to her as the last of her climax shuddered through her.

He slumped down on top of her, head pillowed on her breast, breathing hard. Syn smiled, a languid contentment filling her. She lifted a hand to stroke his hair gently, pushing it off his face.

And that was right about the time the door slammed open at the other end of the dining room and a booming voice said, "Brother! I come bearing gifts and gossip. I hope I'm not- Oh."

Syn froze a bit in panic, but Loki sighed as if this happened to him every day and slipped his hands beneath her, sitting up and bringing her with him so the man in the doorway couldn't see her anymore. "I know mother taught you to knock before entering, Brother," he said dryly.

"Not on dining room doors," he replied, sounding delighted.

Loki sighed again, but didn't loosen his grip on her. Syn took the opportunity to lace up her shirt and fix the fall of his slacks.

"I'll meet you in my study," Loki said firmly to his brother.

"You're not going to introduce me to your lady friend?"

Syn gave him a panicked look but he didn't even glance at her before saying, "No."

He huffed, but heard the door close softly. Loki finally relaxed his grip on her and leaned back to look at her. "I deeply apologize for my brother's lack of manners."

She laughed and shook her head. "I admit, I had not expected to be interrupted in this house."

"If there is a way to ruin my day, he will find it." He helped her down off the table and pressed a kiss to her forehead. "Feel free to make yourself scarce. I'll try to get rid of him."

Despite his words and clear exasperation, there was an undercurrent of affection when he spoke of his brother. And he certainly seemed nicer than his sister had been. "If you want me to meet him. . ."

He hesitated and seemed to be thinking about it. "I'll come find you in the garden. If I change my mind."

That was the best she was going to get. So she nodded and kissed him, before stepping past him to head for the garden.


	8. Chapter 8

Loki found Thor in the study, helping himself to his brandy. He grinned with he entered and lifted his glass. "Hela said you had a little mortal living here, but I had no idea it was like that."

Grinding his teeth, Loki went to pour his own glass of brandy. Never mind he'd just had breakfast, conversations with Thor went easier with a little alcohol in his veins. "At the time, it was not like that."

Thor watched him carefully. "You're fond of her," he said quietly.

Sometimes, for all their differences, Thor knew him quite well. "I am. She is unlike any other woman I have been with."

"Do you think she might be the answer to your curse?"

Loki paced away from him, taking a deep swig of his drink. Of course that's what Thor would ask. That's where his mind would go. "That's not why- I don't know."

"Are you more than fond of her?"

"It's too early for that." He sank into his favorite chair and glared at the cold fireplace.

Thor sat across from him. "Loki, you've been here for centuries. How much longer do you want to wait?"

"It's not like I can snap my fingers and make her love me, brother. She's been here half a year and we've only just begun. . ." He sighed. "How can she love me when I'm her captor."

Pausing in the middle of a drink, Thor leaned forward. "I'm sorry, captor?"

Over two more glasses of brandy, Loki explained it all. Her father's deal and the price she'd paid. He skipped over the events of the night of the Hunt, but of course given what Thor had walked in on, it probably went without saying. 

When he was finished, Thor leaned back in his chair, shaking his head. "Loki," he scolded, managing to sound almost exactly like their mother when he did so.

"Well how was I to know what would happen? I thought she'd whinge and cry and I'd be able to forget about her until she could conveniently escape." Looking back, he couldn't believe how wrong he'd been. Or how quickly he had stopped thinking of her as a captive or prize.

"I don't think she feels trapped here," he offered in his defense.

"Have you told her she's free to go?"

"Not. . . in so many words."

Thor sighed at him. "Maybe start with that?"

Loki resisted the urge to cross his arms and pout. "I will take it under advisement."

Mercifully, they moved on to other topics. Their parents had held their usual ball the night after the Hunt and Thor seemed to think he wanted to hear all abut how was dallying with who. Loki had never been much of a gossip, but the reminders of home were nice. And hearing the trouble their sister had gotten into was always entertaining. His mother had sent him some new books, at least one or two he thought Syn might be interested in.

"Give Mother my thanks," he told his brother, taking him to the library to deposit the books.

"Are you sure I can't meet your lady?" Thor asked.

Loki sighed and looked heavenward for strength. Thor could be as persistent and eager as a puppy. And just as hard to resist. On the other hand, Syn had seemed at least willing to meet the great oaf. And she might as well meet one of the nicer members of his family after her run in with Hela.

"She'll be in the garden," he said, leading Thor to the door. His brother was clearly surprised at the concession, but followed him eagerly outside and down the main path.

They found Syn amongst the medicinal herbs, carefully harvesting lavender. She looked up when they approached and smiled, meeting his eyes. "Hello, my lord."

He found himself smiling in return, probably looking like an idiot. "Hello, pet. I'd like to introduce you to my brother, the oaf."

She laughed and stood, holding a hand out to Thor. "It's nice to meet you. He's told me absolutely nothing about you."

Thor grinned and bent to kiss her hand. "My lady. Anything he tells you would be a horrible lie, anyway."

"I have no doubt." If she was still embarrassed about the eyeful Thor had gotten earlier she was hiding it with the poise and grace of a queen. It occurred to him, not for the first time, that she was worth so much more than the small village she came from.

Thor, who could hold a conversation with a particularly boring brick wall, asked her about her garden, which Syn was happy to chat about. Loki lingered on the edge of the conversation, listening to her explain the uses for nettles and the battle she was waging against the mint. He had wondered a bit about what she did out here all day, and while she'd told him some of the medicines she was working in, she didn't get into the nitty gritty details of her garden wars.

The conversation led them to meander around the garden in a little tour, before returning to the house.

"I'm afraid I must take my leave of you," Thor announced then they had reached the kitchen door. "But I hope I will be welcomed again soon?"

"If you learn to knock," Loki said pointedly.

To his credit, Thor looked chagrined. "Of course. I'll give ample notice." He bent and kissed Syn's hand again, then nodded to Loki, patting his arm affectionately. "Be well," he rumbled sincerely.

Loki nodded and clasped his arm briefly. "Ride safely."

Thor nodded to them both once more before pulling open the kitchen door. It lead to the Wild Lands, though a less dangerous looking part then where Hela had gone to the last time she was here.

The door closed behind him and Syn stepped closer, tucking her hand into his. "That's your brother?"

"Older brother, yes."

She was quiet a moment. "Is he adopted?"

Loki let out a bark of laughter. "No. I don't think so. He's just. . . who he is. He looks more like our mother than my sister and I. Where he got the personality none of us are sure."

"Hmm. He was very kind. Did you have a good visit?"

"More or less. He brought some new books you might be interested in."

Her face lit up and she gave his hand a tug, heading for the door. This time it opened up into the library. She released him to go over to the stack of new book, thumbing through them.

He watched her a moment, the sun shining through the windows burnishing her hair to something almost blonde. She had changed into a slightly more conservative dress, he noticed suddenly. Perhaps she'd been more embarrassed by Thor's intrusion than she'd let on.

"You're free to go," he said softly.

She had been flipping through one of the few novels in the stack. When he spoke her hands froze on the pages and she seemed to stare without seeing for a moment. Then she looked up at him. "I'm sorry?"

"You're free to go. I withdraw my claim. You can go home." He felt something unwind in him. The magic that had gone into the deal with he father releasing them both.

For a long, heart stopping moment, she just stared at him, green eyes unreadable. Then she nodded and looked back at the book. "Do you think the house would take requests for supper? I had a meat dish in the city once I've never been able to replicate."

Loki blinked a few times. "Didn't you hear me? I said you can go home."

"I heard you. But I took that to mean I could leave if I wanted to, not that you were throwing me out." She looked at him. "Are you throwing me out?"

As the idea of her leaving filled him with a rather panicked anger, he said, "No. I don't want you to go."

Syn smiled brilliantly. "I'm glad to hear it." She snapped the book shut and tucked it under her arm. "If the time ever comes I want to leave. I will. Until then, I'd prefer to stay here. With you."

Relief poured through him, hitting him hard enough he had to suck in a breath to steady himself. "All-all right."

She nodded, as if they had settled something. "Now. Dinner requests?"

He reached out and wrapped his arm around her, pulling her to his chest. "I'm sure we can arrange something."

*

Syn did not spend another night in her own bed. She attempted to, when her monthly time came, but Loki pestered and questioned her until she told him why. Then he had muttered something about mortal biology being inconvenient (which she rather agreed with) and settled her on one side of his bed with cookies and a hot water bottle.

Nothing else changed, not really. He was still, at times, grumpy and disagreeable. Other times, he was sweet and thoughtful. He joined her in the library in the evenings, and occasionally in the garden. She expected that was a reaction to his brother's seemingly sincere interest in it. Loki was far more interested in the things she made from her plants, then the plants themselves, spending several long afternoons perched on a stool in her workshop, watching her grind herbs and extract oils.

It was not the sort of life she had pictured having. On the rare occasions she'd allowed herself to imagine a husband, he was usually a wealthy merchant of some time, not a noble at his leisure. She would have had responsibilities running the household and children and possibly helping with his business, if he allowed it. Her free time would have been limited and probably eaten up with socializing or playing with her children.

Here there was exactly the opposite. Any responsibilities she had were those of her own making. She could have spent the day in bed in her night rail, or in the library buried in a book. And she had those days, certainly, luxuriating in laziness and comfort. But she was not a woman used to being idle. And so she always returned to her garden or workshop or kitchen to keep her hands busy and her mind occupied.

As the months passed from winter into spring, children, or the rather obvious lack of them, started to come to mind more frequently. Syn was more aware than most women of her class of the things that could prevent pregnancy or end it prematurely. But despite sharing a bed with a demanding and virile lover, she never had an accident. She used a sponge as often as she was able, but Loki was rather fond of surprising her in various rooms in the house, and it won't something she could keep in all the time. Still, her time came, regular as clockwork, never giving her any reason to worry.

"Can your kind have children with mine?" she asked him one day while they lounged in bed far longer than was respectable.

He gave a little start, and for a moment she swore she saw panic in his eyes. Then he collected himself and shrugged. "It's possible but rare. It's more common with a fae woman and a human male. And usually requires some. . . intent from the fae."

"So you would have to _want_ to get me pregnant for it to happen?"

"I'm not entirely certain of the specifics," he admitted, now looking uncomfortable again. "But I think so. I will say I know of no accidents, if that makes sense."

Syn nodded, mulling that over. "I'm not fishing," she finally told him, since he hadn't unclenched. "I was just wondering if I was exceptionally lucky or if there was another reason." He finally relaxed a little under her hand so she decided to throw out an entirely academic question. "Would a child of human and fae have Power?"

He considered this with far less trepidation. "Not in the way that full fae do. The touched children I've known have been very. . . talented in some way, but generally couldn't wield magic."

"Touched?"

"That's what we call them. Fae touched children."

"Hmm." She nuzzled his shoulder and he cupped her hip and the conversation rather quickly petered out.

She was aware of time passing, and by her count it had to be getting close to summer again. The weather out the windows never made any sense, nor was it consistent from window to window. The garden was always warm and mild, the plants happy and content no matter what climate they depended on. Time passing without seasons changing was perhaps the strangest, most destabilizing thing about this odd house and her strange life.

The days blurred. At first it bothered her. Then she tried to let it go. Sometimes at night, if she had trouble sleeping, she thought about the tales her mother had once told her, about mortals getting stuck in the fae world for what felt like only a day or two, but when they returned home it had been decades. If she went home would her father be alive or long dead? Would she know anyone, or would she just be an age old legend, of the girl who went to the woods in return for a good harvest. Would she even recognize the world she'd left?

Loki had given her her freedom, she was free to leave whenever she wished. And there were days that she thought about it. She found herself sitting in her garden and staring off into space, lost in thoughts of home. But then she thought - _really_ thought - about leaving him. Of likely never seeing him. The stories were full of those who were trapped in the Fairy Lands forever. But they were also peppered with those who left and spent the rest of their days trying to get back. Given the choice, she'd rather be the former than the later.

"You've been quiet," he said one bright afternoon. 

Syn had been reading in the library, or at least trying to, and his voice startled her. She looked up to find him looming over her chair, a look of concern on his face. "Have I? I'm sorry." She closed her book and noticed the cup of tea on the table beside her, a tendril of steam rising off of it. "Did you bring me tea?"

"You generally drink it in the afternoons."

Smiling, she reached out to pick up the fragile cup. "I was just thinking, it's been about a year since I came here, hasn't it?"

He tipped his head back, considering. "Just over, I think. You came at mid summer and it's only a few weeks from the equinox now."

"It's hard to keep track of the days," she admitted. She sipped her tea and found it perfect, with just the right amount of cream and honey. Her chest squeezed with a wave of fondness for him. No one had ever bothered to learn exactly how she took her tea before.

Beneath her chair the floor rumbled and she almost dropped her tea cup in her effort to get it back to the saucer. "Loki?"

He didn't respond and she looked up to find him having stumbled back a few steps, clawing at his arms as if they itched or pained him. He didn't look worried or afraid, merely confused. She supposed if you were a magical creature, you were used to strange happenings. Syn, however, had not grown entirely immune to the oddities of her situation, and was struggling hard not to panic.

The rumblings stopped and there was a great release of pressure in the air that rattled the windows. Syn felt it in her chest, as if the whole world had held its breath and then let it out. Afterwards the room was deathly quiet and she looked around frantically, trying to determine if anything was different, or damaged.

The only things that looked remotely different was Loki and if pressed, she couldn't have put to words what had changed. He was still inhumanly handsome, impeccably dressed. But there was a lightness to him now, a clarity, as if she had always seen him in shadow and now he stood in the bright sun. His eyes were a brighter blue, his cheekbones sharper and more defined. He was somehow even more attractive and it took her a moment to find her voice. "Loki?"

He had been staring at his hands, but looked up at her and grinned disarmingly. "You love me."

"I - what?"

"I'm free," he said. "The bonds. They're gone. The curse is over." He stepped closer to her. "The only thing that could break the curse was love."

She gripped the arm of the chair, for a moment forgetting how to breathe. Did she love him? Is that what that odd wave of fondness had been? She'd never been in love before, never really thought about what it would feel like. In the stories it came suddenly, instantaneously. Or after some sort of grand quest or gesture. Not on a quiet afternoon because of a cup of tea.

But then, the stories were full a lot of things she was learning were bullshit. Why couldn't it be about a cup of tea? Or, at least, what the tea represented? The quiet, cautious way he had learned who she was. The effort he had put into treating her kindly and finding interest in what she did.

Reaching up, she used the high back of the chair to pull herself to her feet and step towards him. "I do love you."

The grin widened, then softened into something gentle and kind and entirely for her. "I love you too."

He lifted a hand and cupped her cheek, drawing her closer. She stepped into the circle of his arms, closing her eyes and tipping her head back for a kiss.

That never came. The feel of his arms faded from her and she opened her eyes swiftly, finding him gone. Everything was gone. Loki, the library, the ornate furniture, the grand house. It was all gone. She was alone, standing barefoot in the grass of the Fairy Ring outside her village.


	9. Chapter 9

Her village didn't really know what to do with her.

To say they welcomed her back would be a gross overstatement. When she walked into town, wearing the fine gown she'd pulled from her enchanted closet, people stared. Some made the evil eye at her. Parents shoved their children behind them, or into houses to protect them from her.

Word made it back to her father before she reached her house. He came running down the lane and swept her up in a hug that took her breath away. Syn had been in a state of shock since appearing in the Ring and at the feel of his arms and the scent of him, she shattered, wrapping her arms around him and sobbing.

He took her home, though she wasn't really aware of the journey. Maeve was there and wept when she saw Syn, giving her her own tight hug. She was then seated at the table with a thick mug of steaming broth and a hunk of hearty bread. Maeve wrapped a shawl around her shoulders and rubbed her back, not saying a word as the last of Syn's tears dried up.

"What happened?" Maeve asked once Syn had blown her nose and sipped some broth.

The question was both simple and ridiculously complicated. Where to begin? How to explain something she didn't understand?

They didn't want to know all of that. They didn't really care about the last year and change. Would not want to hear about Loki and his wry humor and surprisingly gentle heart. They wanted to know why she was home. If it meant the fae were displeased. If the village would suffer.

"The Gentleman released me," she said finally, voice rough and hoarse from tears. "He had a favor he needed from me. When it was done I was free." It was. . . adjacent to the truth, she supposed. She hadn't ended his curse on purpose. And she didn't think he'd known what would happen if she did. But it had happened and it was done and here she was.

Maeve stroked a hand down her hair. "And is that all?"

Syn nodded, sipping her broth again. It was too salty and would have been better served with some more herbs. But it tasted like home and that had a comforting appeal.

"And the tears?" her father said gently.

She realized then that neither of them really believed her. Not entirely. They both knew her well, watched her grow up. They knew when she was hiding something.

But she wasn't yet ready to tell them the rest of it, so she summoned a watery smile and said, "I'm just happy to be home."

They left it at that, to her relief. Her father went out to tell the other lords of her own bargain and she crossed her fingers that they bought it. To even her father's surprise, they believed him entirely and praised her cleverness at outsmarting the Gentleman.

And that, more or less, was that. The tale of her "escape" made its way through the town, gaining embellishments with each retelling. By the time it made its way back to Maeve's ears, Syn had fought her captor and several of his cohorts in a game of wits, ending in some sort of duel. It made them giggle over the dinner table that night, in any case.

Syn tried to settle back in. She rejoined working with Maeve and keeping her father's house. Some of the villagers were still a little suspicious of her and avoided her, even when she was working Maeve's shop. While others thought it a grand idea to get herbs and medicine from a girl who'd spent a year with the fae.

The rumors about her mother being a changeling resurfaced, now said with a tone of awe and reverence. Surely only the child of the fae could have outsmarted her captors the way Syn had. She ignored the whispered and the looks, keeping her head high as she walked the streets. Friends slowly came back into her life, asking for advice or help with sewing or a recipe that just didn't seem right. By the time the equinox passed and the crisp fall nights were beginning to turn into winter's chill everything felt almost as it had before she'd left.

And she _hated_ it.

Oh, she was happy to be back with her father and Maeve. They seemed rather nervous to admit their relationship to her, and rather horrified to learn she already knew. They were good for each other and it was nice to have Maeve around all the time. When asked if they would marry, she was amused to find her father had asked numerous times and Maeve refused, preferring to "live in sin" as she put it.

"I've never been a scandalous lady," she told Syn one day. "Why not enjoy it in my old age?"

The hours she spent alone in Maeve's workshop, drying herbs and grinding powders, were the best part of her day. For a little while she could pretend she was back in the castle, in her own little space, waiting for Loki to come interrupt her. But he never came. Inevitably, she was disturbed by Maeve, or a customer and was reminded, once again, that the castle and Loki were gone forever.

She missed him, the way she would have missed a piece of her that had been taken away. There were moments, when she thought she caught a breath of his scent on the wind, of the brush of his hand on her back. When those moments came she would hold herself still and quiet, not wanting to break the spell. But then it would pass and she would feel more alone than she'd been before.

Winter came hard with the solstice that year, with a long, overnight snowstorm that coated the town in a thick layer of white. Syn woke first that morning, well before dawn, filled with an itchy restlessness she couldn't put a name to. She walked downstairs to the kitchen and made herself a cup of tea then wrapped in her shawl, stood at the window, looking out at the quiet world.

"Do you think he misses you as you miss him?"

Syn tightened her hands on her mug as Maeve came to stand beside her. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"I've known you since you came into this world, child. You think I don't know you well enough to know when you're grieving?"

A bird landed on the snow covered fence outside, head tilting this way and that. Syn felt a pang for the little thing, that would probably starve if someone didn't toss some seed for it. "He was Fae," she said. "I'm mortal. I was a dalliance. When he got what he needed I was dismissed."

She could feel Maeve's gaze on her. "Do you really believe that?"

It was easier, for some reason, to tell herself that story. To believe he had used and discarded her, like every Fae in the stories. But then she thought of the smile he had given her, just before they'd been torn apart, and she knew it wasn't true. Not remotely. And that somewhere, he was just as miserable as she was.

"I miss him," she said softly.

Maeve nodded, as if she'd confirmed something she already knew. "I have something for you. Something I should have given you a long time ago." She reached into the pocket of her dressing gown and held out a small cloth pouch.

Syn took it, frowning in confusion. They usually exchanged solstice gifts in the evening after supper. She untied the top of the bag and opened it, shaking out the contents into her hand.

Inside was a string of silver bells, a cutting of a thorn branch, and a bright green stone on a silver chain.

"This was my mother's," she said, running her fingertips over the bells. She had worn it tied around her ankle in the summer and hung from her waist in the winter. Syn still thought of her every time she heard bells.

"They were all hers," Maeve explained. "She brought them to me, only a month or so before she died and asked me to keep them safe for you. I told her you were almost of age and she should give them to you now. But she insisted it was too early. And that I would know when it was the right time to hand it over."

Now that she said it, Syn remembered the necklace as well, though her mom had rarely worn it on her neck. The chain had usually been wrapped around her wrist with the stone in her hand as she rubbed it with her thumb. She'd called it her "worry stone" and had only brought it out when she had a big decision to make.

"I don't know if your mother was really a changeling," Maeve said. "She was a special woman, whatever she was. And so are you. I don't know what happened to you this last year. It's likely none of my business. But you have never been a girl to lay back let life treat her poorly."

Syn rubbed her thumb over the green stone, tracing the line her mother had worn into it. Tucking the other two items into the bag, she looped the chain over her neck, letting the stone settle against her breastbone.

As soon as it touched her chest, that itchy restlessness increased, growing into a steady, pulsing thrum of awareness under her skin.

The Hunt was running.

"I have to go," she breathed, then turned and ran for her room before Maeve could reply.

When she came back downstairs, fully dressed, her father was waiting for her. Syn fought down the urge to run past him into the snow. For a moment, they stood studying each other, then he spoke quietly, "I never really believed your mother was a changeling. Not until you walked back into town after spending a year with the fae." He smiled sadly. "You shone."

"I have to go," she told him, heart aching.

"I know. Maeve told me." He swallowed, straightening a bit. "What do you want me to tell the town?"

"Tell them I ran off to marry a man in a far away land." It was true enough, and those who knew her would probably understand what he was implying.

Her father nodded. "He'll take good care of you, then?"

She smiled and stepped closer, taking his hands in hers. "We'll take good care of each other."

His hands tightened on hers. "I'll never see you again, will I?"

The bargainer paid the price. And sometimes there were prices you didn't know were there. She loved her father, knew how losing her brother had hurt him. But her future depended on her catching the Hunt and trying to find Loki. And that almost certainly meant she'd never set foot in mortal lands again.

Still, she said, "I promise, if it's in my power, you'll see my once more in your life."

He nodded and kissed her cheek. "Good enough then. Run girl. Give him what for."

She grinned at him and ran out into the snow.

The flakes were no longer falling, but what had come down came halfway up her shins and she had to carefully slog through it. The rhythm of the hunt was still pulsing in her blood, so she knew it hadn't passed by yet. But dawn was in less than two hours and the cock's crow could come any time before then.

She reached the edge of town and thought about heading for the Fairy Ring, but aimed her path to the edge of the woods instead. The Hunt was looking for prey and you found that in the woods. And the woods here knew her. She'd played in them as a girl, picked berries and mushrooms as a woman. It grew the herbs and flowers she used in her healing. Her mother had loved those woods, they'd help her find the Hunt.

At the edge of the trees, she stopped to catch her breath, legs aching from breaking through the snow. She wrapped her hand around the green stone, tucked under her heavy winter cloak, and thought of her mother and the Fae rules she'd taught her.

_Shoes separate you from the land. How do you know what you might be stepping on or what line you're crossing if you wear leather and metal between you and the dirt._

Before the practical part of her could convince the rest of her it was madness, she bent and untied her boots, stepping out of them onto the icy ground. She left them neatly by the side of a beech tree for the villagers to find, then she stepped into the woods.

The snow and ice was thinner here, patchy and it was easier to move. The pounding under her skin spurred her on and soon she was running, hair flying behind her, the bells she'd tied to her waist tinkling merrily.

She didn't know how long she ran. The magic of the Hunt pushed her forward, gave her feet wings. She kept an image of Loki in her mind, tall and lean, pale and lovely. The cool brush of his hand on her back, the tangle of his hair in her fingers. She wanted him back and she called on the wild magic filling her to bring him to her.

There was a shift, between one loping step and another. As if she'd passed through an invisible curtain. The air felt dense and thick for an instant and then she was stepping on a bed of thick moss, not tangled winter roots, and the air around her was springtime warm not icy cold.

Syn stopped running and heard the pounding of hooves with her ears and not her heart. She whirled to face it, seeing not the thick woods she'd come through, but a wide, beaten path. Gathering her courage, she stepped into the middle of it and faced the oncoming horses.

They appeared a moment later, coming around a wide turn in the path. Dozens of them, horses of every color, with riders in grand cloaks and high boots. She recognized Loki's dark-haired sister at the front of the pack, saw the moment she recognized her. Next to her was an old man with long white hair and an eyepatch. She recognized him from the paintings in the castle, Loki's father, the Erlking.

She stood her ground, even as the Hunt continued to barrel towards her. It was too early to lose her nerve. The Fae cared little for mortals, but they repeated rules and they were curious. At the very least, they would stop to find out what she wanted.

Sure enough, just before she was run down, the Erlking brought the others up to a stop, quicker and sharper than any horses Syn had ever seen. He brought his mount around, staring down at her and she looked back at him, gaze focused just to the right of his eyes.

You never held a Fae's gaze long. They found it rude.

"What do you want, mortal, that you would interrupt my Hunt?"

His voice boomed and tightened something in her shoulders and neck. Still, she kept her voice steady when she said, "I have business with the Erlking. Are you him, sir?"

"I go by that name. What business does a mortal woman have with me?"

Syn took a breath. "You have something of mine," she said calmly. "I want it back."

There was a murmur through the crowd and the Erlking's eyes narrowed. "And what might that be?"

"Your son." Another murmur. "You cursed him. I broke the curse by loving him. And he was then taken from me. I can only assume you did that. But as the one who broke the curse, I have the more recent claim on him. I'd like him back."

The Erlking stared down at her and she locked her knees and tightened her shoulders, staying in place. Finally the edge of his mouth curled up. "May I have your name, mortal?"

Never tell a Fae your name. "My name is my own," she replied. "Mortal will do."

He nodded slowly, and she wondered if that had been test as much as trick. "Very well, mortal. You're correct, the breaker of a curse has a claim to the one they saved. If you wish to have my younger son back you." He waved a hand and three identical Loki's appeared before her. "You simply have to tell me which is the real one."

She had known there would be tests. There were always tests in the fairy stories. The heroine couldn't just walk up and win her prize. So she nodded and turned her attention to the three Loki's.  
They were, near as she could tell, identical in dress and appearance. As she studied them, their expressions changed, smiling charmingly at her. She tried to ignore that, looking into each of their eyes, hand fisted around her necklace. The one on the left wasn't him. There was no spark of mischief in his eyes, even when he smiled. The one in the middle - his smile was wrong. It went up too far on the left side, not the right. 

Which left the one on the right. Syn stepped closer to him, taking a deep breath in an effort to catch his scent. Satisfied, she turned back to the Erlking and said, "None of these are him."

The Erlking stared her down a moment and she held her breath, trying to feel confident in her choice.

Finally, he nodded and the three Loki's disappeared. "It seems you're correct again. In that case, I think I may have misplaced the poor boy." A chuckle went through the crowd. "If your claim is so strong, see if you can find him among the riders."

One test down, onto the next one. Syn lifted her chin and started to walk through the riders, moving slow and steady so as not to spook the horses. Instinctively, she took care not to touch anyone until she was ready to make a decision. She didn't know what would happen if she did, but her gut told her it was a good idea.

She tipped her head back, looking into the faces of riders. Some regarded her with curiosity, others distain. Most looked bored, and maybe a little annoyed she had interrupted their hunt. None of them were Loki. None had the spark in his eye or the curve of his smile, or the crisp wintery scent of him.

She was starting to despair that she wouldn't be able to find him and that she would have to face some sort of punishment for standing up to the King.

Then she spotted Loki's brother, finally a friendly face among the rest, and she edged herself towards him. He smiled widely at her and she felt some of the tension that had been knotting her shoulders ease. She could do this.

Behind the brother's horse was a black stallion with no rider, tied to his bay with a lead rope. That was odd enough to catch her attention, as she had yet to come across another riderless horse.

The night of the last Hunt, Loki had told her about riding in it, distracting her as his hands roamed her, drawing out her pleasure.

_I've a black mount, bigger than either of my siblings' mounts. I could outrun the rest of them with him, if I wanted. And sometimes, I do._

She met his brother's gaze again and his grin widened. The horse was the key, somehow. She let her gaze wander to the other mounts nearby, ignoring their riders. A few feet away was another large black stallion, in black and gold tack.

Easing between the horses between them, she reached the mount and rider. The man atop to stallion was dark haired and unremarkable, a wide brimmed hat pulled low over his eyes. She focused again on the horse and put a hand flat on its throat, feeling the thrum of Power and magic. "This is him," she said, loud enough for the Erlking to hear.

"That man is none of mine," he replied, voice booming as if he was right behind her.

"Not the rider," she said calmly. "The stallion is mine."

To her left, she heard the brother whoop in triumph, which caused a titter of laughter in the crowd.

Beneath her hand, the warm horse flesh shifted and reformed, until she was touching cool leather with a familiar heart beat beneath it.

Loki's hand curled around her on his chest. "Hello, pet."

She smiled up into equally familiar blue eyes, feeling that missing piece of herself settle into place. "Hello, love."


	10. Chapter 10

For the rest of his existence, Loki would never forget the sight of Syn standing fearlessly in the path of the Wild Hunt, facing down his father as if she was negotiating the price of cloth.

He wasn't surprised she'd bested the tests put before her. Now, more than ever, he was convinced she was fae touched. A normal human couldn't have found the Hunt as easily as she had.

Now she was back in his arms after months apart and he was more that ready to go to war with his father if it meant keeping her there.

Odin looked down at them from the back of his horse, expression unreadable. Syn was holding herself very still and wary, looking up at him, but not meeting his gaze. "What is your next test, Erlking?" she asked when Odin continued his silence.

"Why do you believe there is another?" he asked. Loki thought he detected a note of amusement in his father's tone, which was likely a good sign.

"There are always three tests," Syn replied.

"Hmm." That was the noise he usually made when his someone - usually Frigga, his wife - had won an argument and Odin was unwilling to admit it. "No test. You've played well. Now it's just a matter of getting you where you belong."

Loki's hands tightened on hers. "Father-"

"I'll have no son of mine living among the mortals. So if you're to be together, she needs to come to our lands. Which means she needs to finish the Hunt with us."

It didn't necessarily mean that, of course. There was a variety of ways to get her to Fae lands. She'd gotten herself this far, which meant most of them would be fairly straightforward. But running the Hunt. . . that was clearly the third test, whether Odin admitted it or not. No mortal had ever lived through a ride on the Hunt in Loki's lifetime, though there were stories of a handful over the years who had managed it.

"I wish to ride with him," Syn said, nodding to Loki.

"A horse can be found for you," Odin replied, with a stubborn set to his mouth.

Her fingers clenched into a fist and Loki could feel her tremble a little as she replied, "Generous of you, Erlking. Still, I'll ride with him. I find myself unwilling to be away from him."

He saw his father preparing to insist, in that authoritarian way that only his father could. It might, in fact, come down to a fight and Loki began calculating who might be willing to fight on his side. There was a collection of lords who grew restless under Odin's rule, there always were in a kingdom such as theirs. Some of them, however, might balk at starting a revolt over a mortal, so he couldn't count on all of them-

"Oh by the trees, Father," Hela said, bringing her horse up to the group. "The little urchin doesn't even have proper shoes. Let her ride with my brother so we can be on with it. The Hunt ends when the cock crows and I hear the birds stirring in their coops."

Odin turned to glare at her and Hela looked back at him, face impassive and inscrutable, as only she could. Other riders near them started to shift impatiently, clearly done with letting their family drama hold up the Hunt.

Finally, Odin ground out, "Very well," turning his mount back to the head of the pack.

Loki didn't hesitate, tossing Syn onto his saddle and climbing up behind her. She wasn't dressed for riding, skirt hiking up over her knees until she readjusted her winter cloak to cover it. He wrapped his arms around her from behind, taking up the reins. "Hold on tightly. Do not fall asleep and do _not_ fall off."

She nodded. "I've heard the stories." She shifted, gripping the horse with her legs and tangling her fingers in its mane. "I can do it."

He kissed her shoulder and gave her a squeeze. Then Odin blew his horn and the Hunt was back on.

Their ride through the woods felt faster than it ever had before. He was acutely aware of Syn and all the places they touched. The pounding of the hooves rattled through him, sending his heart racing and his blood rushing. He could hear her breath, fast and ragged as his own.

A few times he felt her start to slump, lulled by the rhythm surrounding them. When he thought he might be losing her, he would squeeze her waist or nip at her shoulder. She would gasp and jump, sitting up straight and retightening her grip on the horse's mane.

Hela had said the cock was near crowing, and she'd probably been right. But time moved strangely on the night of the Hunt and the last hour could feel like days if Odin wished it so. Loki didn't think he would go that far. He might turn his nose up at mortals, but he would not have let Syn get this far if he wasn't willing to give her a chance to win, but that didn't mean he wouldn't draw it out a little, to make sure they worked for it.

He was growing concerned he might have to take desperate measures when the road beneath his mount's hooves turned from dirt to cobble stones and the high wall that ringed his father's kingdom appeared in the distance.

As they rode through the open gates, Syn was alert, head turning rapidly as she tried to look at everything at once. He made a mental note to give her a proper tour later. For now, his only thoughts were of getting her home, in private behind closed doors, so he could show her exactly how much he'd missed her these last months.

Riders peeled away as they made their way through the city streets to the palace. When they reached the stable yard he barely waited for his horse to pull up before dismounting and reaching for Syn. She slipped out of the saddle and into his arms, all but boneless. Clearly, she was exhausted and he tried to tamp down on his ardor. She was still mortal and despite the pounding of the Hunt, might be too tired to do anything about it.

"Loki," his father said before he could leave with her.

It was just them and his siblings here now, or he'd never have used his true name. It had the desired effect to get him to turn and look at Odin, cradling Syn protectively in his arms.

"She is worthy of you," he said, to Loki's shock. At least until he added, "For a mortal."

He felt himself grin, despite himself. It was the closest he'd get to his father's blessing, and he would accept it gladly. "Do not expect me for breakfast," he replied, and whisked himself and Syn to his room with a thought.  
She gasped in surprised at appearing in his chambers. "How-"

"Magic," he murmured, setting her on her feet so he could untie her cloak. "I have access to all of it again. Thanks to you." He let the heavy fabric drop off her shoulders and cupped her face in his hands. "I missed you."

She curled her hands around his wrists. "I missed you, too."

Brushing a kiss against the corner of her mouth he murmured, "Do you still feel the Hunt?"

Her breath stuttered a little, but she nodded. "Very much."

Another kiss skimmed her cheek. "Are you tired?"

"I've never been more awake in my life," she told him before tipping her chin up and closing the distance between them for a hot kiss. Loki groaned, sliding his arms around her, lifting her up against his chest.

The kiss took off before he could even try to take control of it. The Hunt had a hold on him just as much as her. In moments they were rather frantically peeling each others clothes off, stumbling towards the bed.

He was wearing far more than her, dressed for riding as he was. So once he got the buttons of her dress undone he moved his attention to his own clothes, peeling off his coat and tunic in rough, graceless motions.

Syn's hands roamed his now bare back, then she leaned back with a start of surprise. "Your brands are gone," she said, flattening a hand on his now smooth chest.

"Gone with the rest of the curse," he confirmed. "Thanks to you."

She slowly traced the curve of his chest, down the center line before slotting her fingers into the dips of his ribs. "I will need that explained to me at some point," she murmured. "Later," she added, stepping close to kiss the skin of his shoulder.

He groaned at the touch, hands tightening on her back. She all but purred and he tugged her dress down her shoulders, letting it fall to the floor.

After that things got a bit. . . blurry. The rest of their clothes seemed to disappear between one breath and the next. She was warm and soft in his arms, then she was beneath him, gasping his name. She was as slick and hot as he remembered her, urging him on with hands and hips and breathy requests. the pounding of the Hunt drove him on and for a very long time there was nothing but her and him and the pleasure they shared.

*

Syn woke to the smell of sweet baked goods. For a moment, she thought she had overslept and Maeve had made breakfast. But then she realized the bed she lay on was softer than the straw tick she had at home, and she sheets were far finer than any she had owned. She cracked an eye open to the elaborate chamber Loki had taken to her after the Hunt, now bathed in the unnatural brightness of a winter afternoon.

Loki was sitting on the edge of the bed, watching her sleep. He looked vaguely embarrassed when he was she was awake, glancing away swiftly as if she might not notice.

Smiling, she stretched and sat up, leaning over to kiss his collar bone where is was revealed by his open shirt front. "I thought for a moment you might have been a dream."

He turned his head and caught her mouth in a proper kiss. "I feared the same. For a moment."

She took a moment to spread her palm over his now unmarred chest. "I understand we were a little busy last night, but could I get some sort of explanation as to what the hell happened six months ago?"

Loki chuckled a little and covered her hand with his. "You broke the curse."

"Explain more."

With a sigh, he resettled on the bed to face her fully. "I told you about the incident with my cousin?"

"The one that was killed, yes. Your aunt wanted you to be killed in return."

"Yes. There was a trial of sorts and the only person in the whole of the court to speak on my behalf was my mother. She was more or less dismissed, as of course a mother would vouch for her son. When my father banished me, he added an escape clause, if you will. If I could find someone who would love me enough to speak well of me. It was impossible, of course, locked away as I was. But it gave it the semblance of hope, so no one could complain the judgement was too harsh."

"But then I came along."

"Indeed you did." He smiled softly, touching her cheek. "It was not what I intended, when I made that deal with your father. You. . . surprised me in every possible way."

"You were a bit of a surprise yourself," she told him. Leaning her cheek into his touch, she asked, "What do we do now?"

His eyes gleamed in a way that made her a little nervous. "I brought you some breakfast."

He gestured to a spindly legged table by the far wall. It had a tray on it piled high with pastries and fruit. That explained the sweet smells she'd woken up to.

"If I eat that," she said quietly. "I won't be able to leave, will I?"

Loki faltered a little. "No. You would need to stay here, in Fae lands. Eventually, perhaps, you could visit earth again, but it would take a long time." He caught her hand. "But it will also start your transition into being at home here. You're already halfway there, being touched. In a few years you should be able to wield your own magic. You'll live forever-"

He was starting to sound desperate, so she squeezed his hand until he focused on her. "I'm not saying no. But I promised my father I would see him again. I need you to promise me we'll find a way to do that. And I can't bind myself here until we do."

Some of the tension seemed to drain out of him and he nodded. "I know what your father means to you. I'll see it done."

Relief filled her, leaving her weak and giddy. "Really?"

He nodded and leaned in to kiss her. "I love you. I would never trap you here if you didn't want to be here. I'm very clever. If you want to be able to see your father then I will find a way for you to do so." He smiled widely as if something had just occurred to him. "In fact, I know a patch of ground in the space between the lands just the right size for a cozy enchanted castle. Sounds like the perfect place to honeymoon for a few years."

This still felt oddly like a dream. But after months of sleepwalking her way through her life maybe she deserved a good dream. Wrapping her arms around him, she kissed him tenderly. "That sounds just perfect."

*

Syn's father married for a second time in the fall. It wasn't the traditional time of year to wed, but he summertime was a sad time for him. Maeve said it was fitting, anyway. They were in the autumn of their lives, best to get married then as well. Privately, he thought there were a bit closer to winter, than autumn, but the sentiment was nice.

The ceremony was nice, as well. As was the party afterwards. Most of the town came, celebrating the harvest they'd brought in as much as his happiness. There were a few moments of grief, when he wished Syn could have seen him, could know that he was happy and well. But he also knew she wouldn't have wanted him to mope, so he tried not to dwell.

Briefly, while dancing with Maeve as enthusiastically as his knees would allow him, he thought he saw her at the edge of the crowd. She was wearing a sky blue gown and a tall man with pale skin and dark hair stood next to her. Then they twirled away and when he was able to look in that direction again they were gone. He wrote it off the wishful thinking and brought his focus back to his wife.

It was dark and still when they finally made their way back home. Maeve had enjoyed the mead and wine and he helped her to bed, leaving her to get settled before joining her. He was exhausted, but his mind was unsettled and he didn't want to keep her up with his tossing and turning.

He went to his study, thinking some dry reading would tire him out enough to sleep. Instead, he found his daughter sitting in his big wing chair, a large wolf-dog sitting beside her with his head on her knee.

When the shock wore off, he found himself grinning. "I knew I saw you in the crowd."

Syn smiled. "Maeve was a beautiful bride."

"She was. It's good to see you, love."

"You, too, Papa." She stroked the wolf's head. "This is Fenris. From time to time, he's going to show up and lead you through the woods so we can have a visit."

Tension he'd been holding so long he'd grown used to it suddenly unfurled in his chest. "So this isn't goodbye forever?"

"No," she said, smiling again. "Not at all. In fact, I expect you'll see him sometime after the snow falls so that you can meet your grandson." She stood then, and he could see she had a noticeable bump under her gown and cloak.

"I'm happy for you," he told her, stepping close to hug her.

She wrapped her arms around him. "I love you," she said softly. "Thank you."

"Whatever for?"

"For letting me go." She laughed, then added, "And for making a deal with the fae."


End file.
